The call comes as whispers on the wind. I look out the window at the moonlit night.
Walk with me now.
I pull on my shoes and take the path to the woods, the breeze whispering in my ears, caressing my face, pulling me away.
Pine needles crunch beneath my worn shoes. An owl hoots overhead, looking for its dinner in the tall grass rustling next to me. Most nights the woods send shivers up my spine and through my body. Most nights I do not dare come here at dark, but I know tonight that I am safe. I will not stumble and fall. It is not really the wind that calls to me and that is what carries me from home. Those whispers are the call I have been waiting for all these years.
Come with me now.
I follow the trees until they fall away at the lake. The moon is reflected on its surface, a perfect silvery circle. Carefully, I step on the stones out to the boulder just off shore. It is from here that I scattered the ashes, many years ago now.
Too many years ago.
I am here, I whisper.
And I wait. The wind weaves in through the knit in my sweater, chilling my skin ever so slightly. It closes my eyes, whispering words I do not understand until I know that the time has come. I open my eyes.
There he is, waiting for me, as he promised. From the ashes he has come at last, my husband, to take me to our new home.