The wind blew quite strongly but the sun shone red hot on his skin. The sky was its usual deep blue. He sat on the wooden seat in his garden, holding a mug of hot coffee and thinking of nothing. How had he come to be so alone? The wind strengthened and broke through to his consciousness. He had never liked wind, it always made him feel unsettled and a little anxious when it blew. He knew it was the memory of past cyclones which made him feel like this, but knowing this did not help, as it was not a logical fear, not every time there was a strong wind. It had become an instinctive reaction over which he had no control.

In a few moments he was back in his memories, lying under the bed in his small brick house in Townsville, with his two toddler sons beside him. Mary was away in Sydney on a business trip and he had been left in charge of the house and the boys. The wind blew hard, swirling around the house, then slamming against the walls and the windows. He hoped that the roof would hold, but it was a new house built to Cyclone 2 regulations. Still, he would need to take no chances. The boys had giggled sleepily when he had lifted them from their bunks and lay them under the wooden double bed on the side away from the window.

Now they were grown up and living on the other side of the continent. He was lucky if he saw them once a year. Mary had been seduced by the hard-edged glitter of Sydney and lived there now. His eyes started to water so he wiped them with a handkerchief and blew his nose. The memories and the loneliness got to him at times. He picked up his mug and walked back to his solid little brick house. I will have to get out of this blue mood he thought. Walking into the living room, he picked up his saxophone, his best friend, and blew out a harmonious tune.

(Homophone: blue and blew)

© Frances Coll   15-7-12