Runner up in the 2025 Creatives Flash Nonfiction Contest, kindly supported by Fort William Mountain Festival and the Highland Bookshop.
It’s a fine day. Blue skies, gentle breeze.
But Jack’s no feeling guid. He zips a green jaiket up tight.
We’re halfway up the Binn. It’s no like Ben Lomond last year, or Beinn Alligin the year afore. But it’s a bonnie hill, overlooks the Forth, stretches of colour for miles.
He asks me to carry his kit. ‘Aye, nae bother. But nae piggybacks.’
He unfurls a white smile. His legs are going gammy but he’s still sharp, steely.
We’re at the top. Steve helps him take a seat. Jack’s aul broon boots are geein him grief, been getting worse since the diagnosis.
Red smiles greet bright yellow October sun. ‘We’ve no been up the local hill since we were bairns!’
It’s been a braw day. Jack might no make it again but he’s made it the day.
The Binn. It’s oor hill, it’s his mountain, full of colour.