Today was a long day at work. I didn’t get home until nearly 8 o’clock. I felt drained, but decided to go for a short walk because I knew I’d feel miserable if I didn’t. As I stepped into the night, I felt the racing spring wind, cool, fresh, full of urgency, hollow with loneliness as only a spring wind can be. I walked past a neighbor’s house, a single lamp burned in the window. The elderly woman who had lived there had recently died, and the house looked lonely, too. It was sad to think the couple that had once lived there would never be coming home. The house was still, though full of fresh memories. The history of it was in flux, a door shutting as another opened.
The neighborhood was quiet and deserted, except for the soughing of wind through tall pines, a rushing, exciting sound. It might have been one o’clock in the morning, the place felt so empty. The isolation I felt was not unpleasant, though. My mind cleared and I was thankful for the moments of peace in the dark.
When I unlocked the door to our house and stepped back into the flood of light from the interior, I left the wood door open, let the wind blow through the house and fill it with coolness. The wind eddied and pulled. It swished through the wind chimes outside to make a pleasant sound, and I felt the tension of the day drain away.