‘Come home’.
Wherever the wind blew, I heard it. It was in the salt-laden sea breeze, the crash of waves and the cry of gulls. I heard the call, and ignored it.
‘Come home’.
It shook the forest leaves and whispered to me.
“I cannot,” I said. “You know I cannot.”
In high places the wind blew more fiercely, the words louder as it tore at the impassive rocks.
‘Come home, come home’.
“No,” I told it. “Home is closed to me. I cannot.”
But the wind, relentless, followed me. Through deep woods, through barren wilderness, through bustling cities. Wherever I wandered, I heard its message, carried from far and far away. It persuaded birds and insects and sheep and dogs and all manner of other life to repeat its cry. It even suborned the noise of traffic and the throb of crowded humanity.
‘Come home, come home, come home.’
“No, no, no.” I repeated. “NO!” I shouted. But the wind would not take that for an answer.
Until I found a phone, dialed a number, made a connection.
“Hello?”. So long since I had heard that voice.
“It’s me.”
“I know.”
“I just wanted to say…” Wanted to say, but it was still so hard to say. “I know what I did. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
A long silence. Silence on the phone. Silence in the breeze.
Finally, I had to break it. “OK. I understand. Sorry isn’t enough. I won’t bother you again.” And now perhaps the wind would be at peace.
“No, sorry is enough. If it is just sorry. I was waiting for the ‘but’. There always used to be a ‘but’.”
“No ‘but’. I’ve none left. Only – sorry.”
Another long pause.
“Then come home.”
And the wind was still.