The Wind in the Willows (of Night and Stars)

The night sky was darkest black velvet, sprinkled with the glittering of stars held together by milky threads. In the centre of this night sky she hung, full and a luminous silvery-blue.

He stood there, waiting under their favourite tree – a willow.

His skin was bronzed, his figure tall and light yet muscular. He wore clothes of dappled greens and browns like a rich, forest loam and a gentle breeze seemed to roll around him, caressing him lovingly, gently waving his long, earthy brown hair. But it was his eyes that were the most captivating. In the darkness they were a deep, deep green and were full of a wisdom that could not be measured by age or time.

He felt it then, the small tremor through the air.

Slowly she appeared, nothing more than a wraith, childlike in billowing silver robes.

“Hello, my dear,” he said in a voice as rich as fertile soil.

The girl shyly looked up at him.

“Hello,” she said, in a voice almost angelic.

The man held out his long, slender hand and the little girl took it.

With a whispering noise, the world around them seemed to blur and suddenly the willow vanished, replaced by the gentle lapping of waves upon the sandy beach.

“The water is not your domain,” she said. “Why bring me here?”

“The sea is our domain. For the waters rest upon my body and lay in the palms of your hands, invisible threads connecting us all. And some creatures, my dear, are of both land and sea,” was his reply.

They walked slowly along the sand. Wherever he stepped, a small, green, trailing plant grew, and wherever she stepped left the silvery outline of a delicate foot.

He held out a hand to stop her suddenly.

“Shhh,” he whispered like the wind through trees. “Watch.”

They both crouched down and waited.

A disturbance occurred in the darkened water and a form took shape, moving slowly, laboriously from the water and onto the sand. The wet trail of gleaming water could be seen as it made its way up the beach.

It was a sea turtle.

The moonlight was so bright that they could make out the yellows and greens of its body, its flippers leaving gouges in the sand. Its shell gleamed, hard and strong and laced with shades of mottled brown with dark lines and lighter ones crisscrossing across its shell.

“On the full moon, the sea turtles come here to lay their eggs. For while they are creatures of the sea, they crave the solidness of the land, of the earth, to give their children strength,” he whispered, watching first the sea turtle then her.

Her eyes glowed with delight, almost snow white in their silveriness.

“I never knew,” she breathed.

He smiled, his heart quickening.

They continued watching as the sea turtle made her way up the beach and finally settled down to lay her eggs.

“How do they all make it down to the water?” she asked.

“Not all of them do,” I said sadly.

Her head whipped to towards me, eyes bright with sorrow.

“Do not fear, my dear. Many of them do make it. It is life’s test, to survive, and it is one that we all must pass. Even you and I must bow to it in some ways. Even us,” he said, cupping her chin gently and planting a gentle kiss on her forehead.

The sea turtle finished her laying, buried her eggs and laboured back into the sea where she disappeared into the waves once more.

“It is sad,” said the girl, “that she has to go, that she has to leave them.”

The man stood up and extended his hand.

“Nothing and no-one is ever alone. Now come, let us return,” he soothed.

The girl smiled and took his hand, hers no more than a ghost of the real thing, as though she was part here yet part not.

The air whispered and the world blurred around them again.

*****

For the next few nights, while the moon still hung full and heavy in the sky, slowly growing smaller, the man showed the girl the hidden wonders of the world, of the night time, of the beasts and the birds and the plants he made flower for her in the dead of the night. As the nights progressed, the girl’s shape grew more solid, grew longer, larger, her face taking on more angular features as her childish features were slowly erased.

Each night she became more solid, more real, older, fairer, wiser.

When the moon reached a perfect half, she had taken on the tall, yet somewhat lanky figure of a young woman, in the first blooms of youth. Her hair darkened more as well, going from silver slowly into midnight black and her eyes glowed more like melting, silver-blue ice.

Through it all, the man stayed the same, but for the growing love in his eyes.

This night he took her to a soft meadow, the smooth, green grass rolling in the gentle breeze like the waves of a rippling sea. Upon the soft meadow nestled a group of magnificent horses. Some were standing, contentedly cropping at the grass, others in a repose, half asleep, enjoying the cool night air.

“They are beautiful,” she said, her eyes drinking in their coats faintly glinting in the moon and starlight.

“Horses are my favourite. So majestic, so beautiful, so enigmatic,” the man replied.

He gave a low, vibrating whistle and a ripple moved through the herd, followed by the galloping of hooves. A black horse appeared and came to a stop in front of the man. He was a majestic beast, with a mane, tail and coat as black as the night, eyes that glinted with wisdom and intelligence and hooves that shone silvery-black.

“This is Nychta,” the man said, stroking the stallion’s face lovingly. “He is the king here.”

The ever-solidifying form of the girl reached out to stroke his muzzle, then wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug. She whispered something in his ear and he let out a loud neigh.

“May I ride him?” she breathed.

The man laughed, picked up the girl and deposited her gently onto the back of the stallion. Then he heaved himself up and over to sit behind her, wrapping her in his arms securely.

“Fly, Nychta,” he said to the stallion’s intently listening ears.

He gave a neigh and began galloping across the grassy fields, the peals of the girl’s delighted laughter ringing through the air.

*****

The sky was empty once more of anything except the stars. The moon had hidden itself away, somewhere no mortal could see it anymore.

The man knew exactly where the moon was on these dark nights.

She appeared again, but this time not as a child or a blooming youth. Instead, she was a woman, a woman of glowing skin and hair as black as a raven’s ring, yet festooned with twinkling lights, mimicking the sky above. Her eyes shone blue, not an icy blue, but a liquid blue, like soft moonlight on dark, rippling water. She wore a dress of silver that billowed around her as she walked towards him.

“Terras,” she said, her voice as rich as his only lighter.

“Fengari,” he replied, dipping his head towards her.

She reached out her hand and caressed his face gently.

“What do you have to show me tonight, my love?” she asked.

He returned her gesture, moving strands of raven hair from her face and behind her ear. Then he kissed her gently on the forehead.

“To the sky under the earth,” he said.

The world blurred once more.

*****

At first, there was only darkness.

“Where are we?” the woman asked, her voice echoing.

“Just watch and wait, my dear.”

Slowly, the soft embrace of the darkness lightened, and the woman tried to see what was changing.

“Look up,” the man whispered in her ear, his breath caressing her like wind across a field of rich wheat.

She gave a sharp intake of breath and then was silent again. The gathering light made her eyes shine with wonder and the man smiled once more. He gestured for her to slowly, slowly sit upon the mossy ground he had conjured up, soft as a feather bed.

His hand found hers as they lay there and watched the glittering appear above them. Thousands of small, sparkling dots danced upon the dark ceiling of a cave far beneath the land, and far, far below the reach of the skies above.

They danced and glittered and seemed to move across the room, tracing gleaming patterns and shapes that she could hardly make out.

It was breathtaking.

“Is this how the world feels when they look up at me for the first time? Or at the skies, my home, and my brethren the stars?” she breathed.

“Yes,” he said simply. “Though I think the skies are far more beautiful, especially when you are in them.”

She laughed musically at his comment and then suddenly the world was plunged into darkness once again.

“I don’t think they agree with you,” she mock-whispered to the man.

Her laughter was infectious. It made him feel more alive than the spring rains that blanketed the world and nourished all things. It made him feel stronger, more solid than the great mountains. It made his heart beat faster than the winds racing across the deserts.

He lithely stood up from their mossy cradle and held out his hand. Unerringly in the darkness, she grabbed it, her smooth, cool skin upon his, warm and rough.

“They haven’t seen the night skies as I have.”

*****

They returned in a whoosh of wind to their spot under the willow tree. The night had reached its zenith and was beginning to melt away. They still had time but…it was never enough.

Glowing with soft, silver light, she danced around the trailing fronds of the willow, touching them and leaving traces of her silver behind.

“I like these trees,” she said. “If each tiny leaf were a star, they would be all tied together with the incandescent webs of stardust and clouds acting like vines. All connected to the great lifeforce, the centre, whatever that may be. Strong, rooted, eternal.”

Instantly the man snapped his fingers and hundreds of floating, orange-gold lights appeared and settled upon the trailing fronds.

“Stars of earth and fire,” he said, his eyes sparkling gold in the glow.

She giggled and examined the horde of fireflies that had alighted on the branches and trees.

“I prefer these stars to the ones I know. They are beautiful but cold. These hum with life and warmth.”

She looked sideways at him then darted out and grabbed his hands. Caught off guard, he allowed himself to be pulled to the large space close to the trunk of the tree. The woman laid both their hands on the trunk of the great willow.

“Show me its heartbeat. Show me the heartbeat of the trees and the earth, show me the song that the winds sing over your body,” she whispered, staring up at him.

He drew a deep breath and did as she asked. He felt the thrum of the willow, its stretching roots, its stretching trunk. He felt the winds moving its trailing leaves, the symphony of movement whispering around them, almost out of hearing, out of reach.

The woman began humming softly in a voice of soft silver and she took his hands once more.

Staring into each others eyes, hers bright and silver and ethereal, his warm and dark and earthy, they began dancing.

It was slow at first, each movement deliberate, trying to catch the rhythm of the winds. She put one delicate leg up and forward and stepped, he followed, keeping the closeness between them.

The wind picked up, playing like violin strings, the heartbeat of the willow was the beating of the drums, the tendrils of the willow brushing together like the breath of a lover blows.

Her laughter echoed like sparkling water droplets and his boomed like a crashing waterfall as they danced, faster and faster, their hearts beating, their eyes full of love. The air shimmered and gleamed around them with an otherworldly glow; the power of the Moon and of the Earth.

And as they danced, bathing in their love, the world was full of this glimmering magic, and the dreamers sleeping upon the Earth, dreamed of love and moonlight.