The Voice in the Wind

     An old man was sitting at home on his front porch enjoying the cool night breeze when he thought he heard someone calling his name. He shouted out, asking who was there but received no reply. Minutes passed and in these minutes the clouds parted, revealing a full moon with bright stars unhindered by city lights. He had spent an entire lifetime in this house and it reflected his personality. A little neglected and disorganized, it held all the treasures he had collected in his life. Pictures, old and some not so new, hung upon the walls giving testimony of a life come and nearly gone. The old man was almost ninety and not in good health. His body was stooped from years of hard and he could barely stand. Others tried helping the old man, some offering to take him in, but the old man had his pride and said, "No thank you my friend." He loved to talk, reminiscing about the past, telling of how he had been born on this land and when he died of wanting to be buried there next to his wife, whom he had loved so dear.

     Seeing the full moon, the old man began to smile, remembering nights past spent sitting on this very porch with her, listening to the crickets chirrup, frogs croak, and leaves rustle in the wind. Of recalling happier times when he felt full of life. He lightly grips the rocking chair arm, imagining it's hers, and slowly caresses it as he'd done so many times before. Memories poured forth flooding his mind but eventually the happy thoughts turn sad, recalling the night she left him long ago, a night with a full moon.

     Sitting on the front porch feeling so alone and lost, he's again startled to hear someone softly calling his name. He shouts, asking who's there, and hears his name called out again. Painfully he rises and with cane in hand walks down the steps into the night. Lightly, as though a sigh he hears his name called and he walks toward the voice. The Voice in the Wind guides him toward his wife's grave, where he stumbles and falls. Hurt and broken, he crawls to the grave and with tears in his eyes places his hand upon it. Sitting up he looks at the moon that seems to smile down, beckoning to him, and hears the whispered voice say, "Come home."

     The next day a neighbor passing by finds the old man lying by the grave. The poor old man has passed on, hopefully to a better place, and as the neighbor kneels  down to pray over the old man, he hears The Voice in the Wind whispering, "I'm home."

Randall  J. Beers

© June 7th 1999