Waiting and hoping

In the hospital the man wanders around the ward. Confused by illness he wants only to go home. Around him he sees not the beds and bars of the hospital, but heather and heath of the island where once he worked in his youth, through a hot summer, building walls, reshaping a cow shed. And with him are all the cats that have ever shared his days and his life.
Next door the house waits, patient, but with each day it looks a little sadder. If a house can have a heart, a soul, the soul of this one has been taken away.
At night no light shines from the window through patterned curtains. In the morning no glow disturbs the late twilight of diminishing dark. There is no sound of muffled radio voices, just silence, stillness and waiting as if the house itself is holding its breath.