The Zephyr's Caress

The Zephyr’s Caress.

Signs of spring were all around. The woodland was carpeted with daffodils, dotted with bunches of snowdrops, all swaying in the soft breeze. Tricia felt its airy caress on her hot face and let her tense body relax. The tears dried on her cheeks and her pulse gradually slowed.

The woods were her place of escape when life at home was unbearable. She focused on the unfolding green leaves and let her mind open up as she became a part of nature.

Again the wind stroked her face and bare arms, playfully running through her long curls, as a lover’s fingers might have done.

Tricia sat on the grassy bank, careful not to break any of the stems of the flowers. The sun was unseasonably warm on her skin and she allowed her eyelids to fall closed.

Half-sleeping, she became aware that the soft soughing of the breeze was being joined by sweet music. Someone was playing the flute. She did not recognise the tune but it made her think of singing birds amongst the gently swaying branches of the trees.

She looked round for the source of the music but, at first, could see no one. Slowly she scrambled to her feet and saw a sunlit pathway leading into the woods. She felt drawn to it and convinced that she would find the musician at its end.

At first she tripped and stumbled over the intertwining roots but as her eyes adapted to the dappled light her steps became surer. She found herself almost dancing to the rhythm of the music. An ancient dance that spoke to her of the turning of the great wheel of life. Crops grew and were harvested, the land rested then blossomed, each in its proper order.

At the end of the path the shadows darkened as the overhanging branches blocked out more of the sunlight. Tricia slowed her steps and squinted. Perhaps it was a trick of the light but she was almost sure she could distinguish a figure, leaning up against the trunk of one of the gnarled oaks. 

A shiver of fear mixed with excitement ran down her spine. She stopped several feet away but, like an optical illusion, one moment she saw only a tree and the next a person.

The notes of the flute had ceased without her noticing. They simply merged into the woodland sounds and then were there no longer.

At last her doubts were resolved as a young man dressed in olive drab took a step towards her. His long hair blew around his head as the wind tousled it. Even now that Tricia could see his form he still seemed to be a living part of the wood.

She studied his face. He was beautiful. His features like those of a Michelangelo carving, smooth and unlined, his skin a golden brown that glowed in the half-light. His eyes were a deep walnut and his steady gaze looked deep inside her.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

He obviously heard her clearly but answered with a teasing laugh.

“Oh Tricia. Don’t you know me?”

She knew they were strangers but, at the same time, he felt both familiar and reassuring. 

“My name is Zephyr. I have watched over you for many years. I have seen how hard life has been for you and brought you here many times so that I could dry your tears and tend to your bruises.”

“Since you were able to walk, have you not always come to the woods for comfort? This is your safe place and I have made it for you. Nothing can harm you here and each time you come your heart is healed and your spirit renewed.”

“But why have I never seen you?”

Even to herself Tricia's question seemed naive. Whatever Zephyr might be he was clearly not human, rather, an element, akin to Ariel or Robin Goodfellow of the old folklore.

She tried again, struggling to phrase her questions in a way that he would comprehend.

“Why me? Why have I been chosen?”

“You were chosen by virtue of your birth. You are the child of a human mother and a dryad, the spirit that is bound to this oak.

 Dryads may only exist apart from their trees for brief intervals and are unable to leave their groves. Your mother came here as you have, because her heart was heavy and she was in need of nurture. By chance they met and he was able to ease her pain. They fell deeply in love and you were conceived, despite the fact that your mother could never reveal who had fathered you.

The Woodland Gods were angry and bound your father inside his spirit tree until such time as it should fall and return to the earth.

Your mother was reviled by her family and neighbours. You were taken from her as a baby and given to a childless family who cared little for you, except as a potential carer for them when they reached old age.”

By this point Tricia had tears pouring down her face. Wiping them with her hand she struggled to regain self-control.

“ My poor mother. Where is she now? Will I ever meet her?”

“Sadly your mother chose to take her own life. She came to the woods she had loved so well and drowned herself in the river that runs nearby. She hoped that she would be buried in the soft woodland loam and ultimately be reunited with your father.

It will not be long now. The oak is decaying from the inside. Its branches are brittle and prone to break. Soon the winds will prove themselves stronger than the last few roots and the tree will fall.”

“And what will happen to me?” Tricia’s voice trembled, her eyes still full of unwashed tears.

Zephyr moved closer and folded her gently in his arms. It was like being caressed all over by a soft wind full of love. 

“You will find your true love and together you will have many beautiful children. This place will always be here for you and yours, although you must never share the secret of your birth with them.

I will be here wherever you need me. My destiny is to care for you and others like you. My lifespan is long, there is no danger that you or your children will ever be without the strength that I can provide.

Whenever you feel the touch of a breeze you will know that I am with you. When you walk in Woodlands you will hear the sound of my flute in the trees.”

He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek, wiping away her lingering tears and filling her heart with a happiness that was almost unbearable.

Taking up his flute he blew softly and the tune was taken up by the birds and budding twigs rustling in the trees. Stepping back, he faded into the shadows of the trees.

For a moment Tricia stood motionless then turned back to follow the path that she was destined to walk. The dying rays of the setting sun lit her way in tones of crimson, yellow and gold. The breeze blew around her, encircling her with happiness and love.

The End