Here in the quiet of prison I have finally realized the mystery of the whispering winds. They are voices of loved ones that have moved on, whose spirits live in the freedom of the mountain air. Sometimes their voices break through, longing for me to be with them. It is almost my time, Chris. I am going to be with them soon. We will all be waiting for you up there—or out there somewhere in the wild. When you are ready, come be with us again and maybe it’ll be like the old days. Until then, listen for me in the breeze.
