Blindfaller

Lonesome Whistle

The old hobo took a deep breath and inhaled the exhilarating sites and smells of the rail yard. He'd always loved it here, how the trains came and went, or sat idle until needed. He'd always felt a bit like a train himself, rambling through the night, going where he pleased, the lonesome whistle warning of his imminent departure.

He was old now, a used up shell of a man with no home, roots or family, just the vivid memory of the woman he used to love. The woman who stuck by his side unconditionally, who died a painful, undignified death at the hands of cancer.

Martha had given him a good life. Five children and enough love to last ten lifetimes. She'd been gone fifteen years and not a single day passed that he didn't think of her.

Now, here he was, an old drifter, estranged from his children who had all married and moved away. Today he found himself on the coast of Oregon, the sailboats flashed their bright sails in the distance.

He enjoyed a late lunch at the seafood restaurant where he'd proposed to his love. His heart leaped with joy when he saw that it still stood, just how he remembered it.

The redbird followed him. For weeks the bird mocked him, showing up in his dreams and everywhere he traveled. He'd become used to the apparition, though it became clear that no one else could see his feathered friend. She was there to take him home, to eternity. He didn’t know how he knew that, but it was a certainty that he couldn’t explain. He felt no fear at this revelation. At his age, death loses a lot of its animosity. It's almost a friend.

After his meal, he paid, left a meager tip that was generous if you knew iit was all he had, and walked out onto the pristine sunlit beach. Life was a marvel, a gift. He was thankful for all he had learned. Though painful, life among the country's train yards had been kind to him. He wished he'd gotten to know his children better, but he looked forward to the next leg of the journey.

He didn't need a doctor to tell him that the big moment would happen soon. He'd felt it more and more, ever since he first saw the red bird. The beautiful creature had been his angel, her spirit kin to his, familiar in a startling way.

He walked along the beach, the day free from the winds that so often plagued the Oregon coast. He eased himself down into the sand and took off his shoes. He regretted not taking the time to enjoy his surroundings more. The sand felt cool and gritty on his arthritic toes.

The train's whistle blew loud and long, the sailing ships nothing more than colorful dots on the horizon.

Soon, he found himself sprawled out in the sand, surprised at the lack of protest from his normally achy joints. The flutter of wings sounded in his ear, and he saw with joy that the red bird stood beside him. The moment had arrived. Time to go.

He closed his eyes and felt his body lift up into the air. He opened his eyes to see he'd been transformed. He was now a quite dashing blackbird, standing beside his friend, the red beauty.

She tweeted at him, but her words were no longer foreign. "Are you ready?" She winked and he marveled at the fact that this bird had his wife's dazzling eyes.

He nodded, and the two took flight, using the breeze to help them glide along toward the horizon, the train's lonesome whistle blaring on and on.
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620 words

All eyes out on the railroad
All eyes out on the sea
All these means of travel, darling, mean nothing
Once your soul has been set free
Hear that lonesome whistle blowing
In the shadow of a sail
The winds are high and the tides are flowing
That high ball's rolling down the rail
Little redbird in the corner
There's a blackbird at the door
Lord I know if he should ever cross over
The blood would hit the floor
So hear that lonesome whistle blowing
Hear that engine cough and wine
See those black sails meet horizons
That old blackbird knows it's time
Harken hear the angels humming
Six white horses set to run
My bones rattle between their rumbling
And the setting of the sun