We were battered by the time the sun began to glow over the English countryside. At our feet lay the footprints of history, rubble and ruined ramparts that once marked the edge of the Roman Empire. When dad died, I knew that I had to come here—to a trail that needed no map, where I could walk without thinking and leave the ghosts of the pandemic behind.
Hadrian’s Wall, the Roman ruin that has spanned the width of Great Britain near the Scottish border for around 1,800 years made the perfect trail for this quest. My father would have been 81 this year. But like so many
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