Willing with the Wind

The stranger pulled off the hood of his cloak to reveal curly black hair, a cleft on his chin, and a quizzical expression on his handsome face. “I think we have a lot to discuss, my friend. Are you willing?”

He held out his hand. Nora clasped it like a woman drowning, even though she hadn’t known she’d been sinking.

“Yes,” she replied. (Are You Willing?)

But immediately Nora pulled her hand away.

  • She was willing to explore the woods in the deep of night when even the owls nodded off.
  • She was willing to pretend she was a normal human during the day when she taught college psychology, even though no psychologist could figure her out.
  • She was willing to visit psychics to figure out why she was the only human who needed no sleep.

But Nora wasn’t sure she was willing to explore the answers about who, or what, she really was with this dark-haired stranger who gave her the shivers.

Nothing gave her the shivers. Until now. So she vacillated, shaking her head no.

“I didn’t think so,” the man pouted.

“You didn’t think so what?” Nora asked, moving closer to the man, waiting to see if he moved backwards.

He didn’t. He stood as still as a pillar of onyx. His thin lips turned up in a question that asked, “Do you dare?

“What do we possibly need to discuss in this dusty old historical library?” Nora finally asked.

“I know where you come from. I can take you back there,” he replied, his black eyes boring into hers, unblinking.

Nora’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. “So I’m not …. from around here?”

The man’s head tilted back as he roared with laughter, which made her so mad she stomped her foot. On his toes.

His laugh became a chuckle. “Ouch. Shall we start again? My name is Ezekiel, but my friends call me Zeke.”

“You have friends?” Nora stood her ground, which at this point become more difficult since Zeke had leaned closer to her. She could smell his clove and cinnamon breath, see the tiny whiskers on his face as if he hadn’t shaved in a day, watch the tiny dimple on his chin become more pronounced as he smiled.

Zeke stepped back and moved to the corner of the room, the old wooden-planked floor squeaking with his steps. As if he had all the time in the world, he settled comfortably on the faded calico armchair, placed his elbows on his knees and tilted his hands together with fingertips touching.

“I have many friends from where you come from,” Zeke finally responded. “You’ve been searching for your ancestors, and friends, in the wrong place.”

“You mean, my parents didn’t come from Massachusetts?” Nora asked despite herself. She slowly walked over to where Zeke sat, feeling more in control because she could look down at him.

“Who you call your ‘parents’ were not your originators,” the man said. “Close your eyes,” he continued, “If you dare. I’ll give you a glimpse.”

Nora was willing now. So she stood tall and solid, feet on the ground, eyes closed in suspicion but also hope. Wild wind suddenly swirled around the room. The noise distracted her from the sensation of soaring.

But none of that mattered when she opened her eyes to an unrecognizable land. A land that undulated like a metronome with a violet sky filled with four fuchsia moons. The countryside was dotted with creatures that sprouted wings and beings who looked human yet smiled at her as if she was one of them. Puffy flowers grew high into the sky, and wispy beings floated with the wind.

“Home,” Zeke whispered.

Love me, love me, love me, love me
Say you do
Let me fly away
With you
For my love is like
The wind
And wild is the wind
Wild is the wind

Like a leaf clings
To the tree
Oh my darling,
Cling to me
For we’re like creatures
Of the wind
Wild is the wind
Wild is the wind

(David Bowie)

107 thoughts on “Willing with the Wind

  1. Pam, I like the clever way you reminded us of Nora’s personality traits, knowing we readers have fuzzy recall of previous info sometimes.

    I’ll try to be open to the world of imagination today. Violet and fuchsia are the colors I’d choose. As David Bowie suggests, I’d like to fly away to a world without scary news and deadlines.

    Heavenly! Have a wonderful weekend, my friend!

    Liked by 1 person

    • You WOULD say that, Amy, as a writer of a series of mysteries set in a library. Hmmm, wonder if Nora will appear in one of your books sometime? Unless, of course, she stays in her new violet-skied world. 🙂

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  2. Nice to return after a while away and catch another glimpse inside your imagination, Pam.

    One thing had me curious, however. It seems you used pictures as prompts for this story; however, the simile “still as a pillar of onyx” and specific mention of black hair and black eyes (not typical) made me picture, unlike the posted image, that Ezekiel’s skin is, in fact, looks obsidian, otherworldly. like a negative of Michelangelo’s David.

    Liked by 1 person

    • My imagination bows to your imagination, Erik. I do like to try and find photos that kind of match the story I’m posting. The top one actually represents Nora, not Zeke, as her mind kind of gets “lifted” into another world. Granted, she has a very short hair cut in that photo (quite unisex, I think), but I liked the dreaminess and existentiality of it. I’m pleased you imagined Zeke the way I imagined him. Thanks for leaping into my imaginative story here – now, don’t be a stranger!

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  3. In the very last line of that video, when David Bowie sings, “Wild is the wind,” he really makes it sound like the wild wind and it fits so perfectly with the emotion your character must be feeling as she steps into that violet and fuchsia world. A good fit!

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    • You’re sweet! I think we both know that when we close our eyes, our imagination takes us to places we know exist but are sometimes afraid of acknowledging. I love going ‘wild’ and showing off what we see behind closed eyes.

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  4. I like the way Zeke attracts her and at the same time frightens her. I like the way he pulls her in with information about herself and where she’s from. Finally, when he sits down, she feels more comfortable. You leave me with many questions.

    David Bowie’s Wild Is the Wind is okay, but it doesn’t compare with the haunting Nina Simone version.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I like the way you recognize Zeke’s duality. A friend wrote to me that she found Zeke “creepy,” but I think he’s just different – prescient even. And Wild Is the Wind – a wonderful controversy over which one is better – Bowie’s or Simone’s. I like that artists show the way a song, a story, a myth, can be imagined in different ways.

      Liked by 1 person

    • Jacqui – I think both you and I would be fascinated if Zeke suddenly appeared in the library we’re working in. I’d be happy to hear his answers to my questions. 🙂


  5. I love where this is going! Your descriptions are fantastic! I can just picture the lavender world. Do we get to meet Nora’s parents any time soon? My imagination is taking off!

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  6. Hi Pam, Clove and cinnamon made me think of a pipe? Compelling, otherworldly, violet and fuchsia. A land of fantasy, magic, imagination. I have only recently met you and your blog, Pam, and I am glad I did:)

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ah, your imagination is meshing with mine, Erica. Yes, perhaps Zeke smoked a bit of pipe magic as he conjured how to get Nora to the world she belongs. Isn’t fantasy fun? I find it helps us reach a deeper reality.
      Ditto here – so glad we found each other’s blogs. ❤

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  7. Thank you for transporting me through the emotions of Nora and promise of Zeke from my sailboat to that dusty library and onward to the land of the violet sky. An ending that is just the beginning and leaves me wanting for more.

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  8. Well that was cool. I read this one first and then back-tracked. Is there more??? Pretty please. You are such a wonderful fantasy writer, Pam. I had to come over and say hi. I hope you’re having a wonderful start to your summer, my friend. Happy Writing!

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    • HI, my friend! So glad to hear from you. I’ve thought of you often, hoping all is coming along okay with your parents. I never thought YOU would tell ME that I’m a wonderful fantasy writer. The highest compliment of all, considering the heights you go with your amazing books. I just might blame you for my foray into this genre.

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