Constance

Three Elements of Nature collide creating a dramatic Arc to each of their lives in the space of a late summers afternoon. .. It was written just over 11 years ago when I were 25. 55 paragraphs

This does have an updated dedication which I would like to add at the start here:

Dedicated To
My Beautiful Belle Bell's and My Beautiful Beth, My Two Little Flutter-bys. In Love, Awe and Adoration Always.

For Bigus Manus and The Incredible Immie, With Eternal Love.

And written for "The Golden Rose"..without whom this story would never have existed.
Only The Impossible Can Do The Impossible.
Elgy

Constance

It was a wonderfully sunny, glorious summer day in early august and the little wind was using the leaves of the trees to make a tune, for this wind was very musical and artistic and would always dance amongst the flowers and make them happy by turning himself into a beautiful melody with their help, or by bringing the white, fluffy clouds to pass their shadows over things so that it seemed as if tint, texture and temperature were what these clouds are really here to affect..for things become marvellously mild on the ground to the quite sunburnt and often exasperated bands of ants who patrol the area, or that carry, with herculean might, the very things all ants need to set up a home.
The little wind was a welcome guest in nature's garden and was much respected and admired by the breezes and the gales.
Once, while he was abroad, frolicking with a paper-bag, he stumbled across a tornado which diverted It's path and let him pass he was so appreciated and respected.
Well one particular wind was so much in adoration that nothing would give him more greater joy than to try and separate the little wind..or to play a more screeching, senseless sort of song with the guttering of a house or through an open window..just to try and outdo the little wind.
But even the wicked wind knew that more noise does not always mean better sound..and as a natural consequence everything would run and hide away from the terrible tunes he would feel at liberty, and in spite, to inflict upon all beings and things who had to hear this appalling racket.
He had once fallen, headfirst due to some recklessness no doubt, into a hurricane and was spun so severely that he was interwoven for a moment and then thrown out with still a vicious vestige of it left within him.
Ever since the encounter this wind always sought to take the leaves from the trees so that the little wind could only play his soft, caressing music on the ground instead of the sky as he so preferred.
This wicked wind would bring the more darker clouds, who are much like him in temperament and that take the colours from things and leave them dull and cold.
A snail and a slug were said once to have commented, according to ear-witnesses, that although the wicked wind and the much darker clouds brought the rain..yet still they had no sense of style and thus were even afflicting morbidity and a sense of betraying the betrayer upon those lives conditioned to exist with it all.
The said slug and snail were believed to have been pushed into a stream of water heading to the drains..and the culprit was widely known to be the wicked wind, who didn't deny or admit anything.
His admiration for the little wind only amounted to a slow-burning but utter contempt towards the beauty that the little wind so effortlessly seemed to add to everything.
Well on this day the little wind had woken up a little late and was just beginning to stir himself when the wicked wind suddenly flashed unexpectedly to the front of him in the form of a sheet of linen..which fell quite gracefully but a little ungratefully onto the little wind, covering him for a moment.
With the wicked wind having now seemingly disappeared the little wind ventured to creep..or rather seep..out from a small pin-prick of light he could just see.
He tried, in vain, to lift the linen back to the line it had come off..but of course, to no avail.
A beautiful little butterfly fluttered by seeming a little aimless about its current course and so the little wind bade that "Misses Flutter-By" should allow him to transport her wherever she wished to go for the duration of the afternoon, for he felt that he must do at least one good deed in place of the good deed which he was unable to.
Of course misses flutter-by was certainly thankful and asked to be taken, with a degree of haste, to the fields of red and purple flowers which would provide a fair source of income for her small family.
On the way they talked and misses flutter-by told the little wind that she already knew him and had only met her current husband when the little wind had been relatively younger and had tried to sing through the nose of a duck, who made such a noise that the little wind had jumped away in sheer fright at the sound he thought he himself had just made. This consequently ruffled a single butterfly up into the air..who subsequently bumped into the then Miss flutter-by coming the opposite way carrying a load of pollen.
The little wind remembered it now..but only because he'd chose to forget about the whole of his rather "embarrassing learning experience".
Still the little wind was happy to think that his silliness was someone else's sacred moment of meeting the very love of their life.
When misses flutter-by saw the vision of the red and purple flowers she felt for a moment that she wanted to talk with the little wind forever..but duty and pleasure were calling and awaiting her and she couldn't expect the little wind to wait around for her.
But the little wind had fallen, strangely, a little in love and proceeded to mooch about with a silent wonder as to what he was to do.
As far as he could tell they were a perfect match for he felt, regardless of her husband, that they both found their fullest expression of beauty in each other.
He expressed his beauty in many ways..too many for his liking.
But this beautiful little butterfly had embellished this sense of expression most of all and was making the little wind feel both incredibly happy and immensely more beautiful as they frolicked and danced in the amber air of a summer in august.
But suddenly the wicked wind came like a snake to Its prey..rolling over the hills and crashing into the fields of red and purple flowers where it was misses flutter-bys business to collect pollen and flitter among the pretty flowers purely for her pleasure..and where the little wind was dancing with a stream in order so that he could see himself.
Rolling and then crashing down the wicked wind whipped towards misses flutter-by sending her tumbling into the entrance of a rabbit-hole.
The little winds moment of pleasure was broken first by the sound of misses flutter-by yelping in pain, which was horrible, and then by the sound of the wicked wind laughing wildly..which, all things considered, was far worse.
They say that the greatest storms quite often start with the simplest breeze.
Well when the little wind flew towards the rabbit-hole and saw and heard the state of misses flutter-by he became wonderfully angry and drifted to the heavens..coming immediately back with a rainstorm and within a bolt of lightning followed by the clap and peal of thunder.
The little wind then flew an adequately sized leaf and gently wrapped the shivering little form of misses flutter-by neatly inside it.
The little wind then uttered a small prayer..for though he wasn't religious in any way yet still he had
much faith and belief in mother nature, for her goodness was nearly always evident towards those that prayed regularly to everything around them.
Meanwhile the wicked wind was lost in a state of surprise and sheer shock..he'd never seen a bolt of lightning, a rainstorm nor the clap and peal of thunder produced by a much smaller wind before that he began to feel rather inadequate.
He wondered how something so small and relatively young could become so immense in a moment.
He felt quite sorry for himself..but naturally as this moment passed he unnaturally for himself began to become almost overwhelmed with pity at the thought that he alone had hurt something so small and pretty as misses flutter-by.
A grey cloud right above it all began to cry a little and the snails and earthworms inched and slithered their way from out their homes at the sound of his tears hitting the ground.
The wicked wind gently fell before the tiny form of misses flutter-by, obviously still in some considerable pain, and asked out of simple sympathy what he could do to ease such suffering.
Misses flutter-by, through bouts of extreme coughing, told him that first he would have to become a wind which could take up the red and purple flowers..because it was "so lovely here now that one could easily die amongst it".
The wicked but indeed now sorrowful and worthy wind cried that he couldn't, after hurting something so perfect as her, destroy a thing so beautiful as the fields of red and purple flowers.
All the little flutter-bys frequented this part of the country in the spring and summer and he felt that he would surely be depriving them all of many moments of frivolous pleasure and blissful happiness.
But misses flutter-by told him that it must be done, what with everything else he'd already done, that surely his sympathy and sorrow for her far outweighed his want to give pleasure to others.
With a heavy heart the worthy wind fell into himself and plunged into the fields of red and purple flowers..spinning with the deftness of some inner mode of honed skill and began taking up the red and purple flowers in such a spectacle of caressing style that he appeared to change into many forms with the help of so many red and purple petals.
And all this displayed with that fluidity of expression which is absolutely essential to imagination..for it imbibes that sense of the first undefined and then all knowing thoughts one associates with the hearing of new music, or the intricate steps and moves in a dance unseen before..or the first light of a new sunrise.
The little wind thought that it looked as if the worthy wind was fatally wounded and bleeding profusely.
He thought he could see strange morphing phantoms being contorted by some angst of pain deep within him.
Misses flutter-by saw the red and purple flowers spinning and twisting in the sky and thought of how beautiful they seemed up there.
Misses Flutter-By then thought of how barren the fields suddenly seemed now that its flowers were up in the air, moving like a living painting.
She wondered what it would feel like to be part of it and beckoned the little wind to take her up in the leaf she was wrapped in so that she could be at one with this wonderfully unique beauty.
But the little wind simply wasn't sure..for though he loved quite madly this beautiful little flutter-by he'd only really just met, yet still he couldn't want for the life of his most prized form of expression to die lest he should die himself.
Misses flutter-by assured him that there were many other flutter-bys out there who would give form to his beautiful thoughts and that could more properly express his many talents.
The little wind sobbed for he'd never had so much responsibility before..and never for a life.
Misses flutter-by kindly told him that the state of ones death is far more important than the scenes of ones life..that she would always be remembered and that being forgotten is the one fate worse than death, of which she would therefore be immune.
The little wind bravely found some courage and gently took up the little leaf with misses flutter-by still snugly tucked inside of It.
Two days later misses flutter-bys family all died..for beautiful little butterflies live a wonderfully short life. But everyone knew that it was really from grief.
The worthy wind went to sea where, as he put it; "..there will be no fragile flutter-bys or fields of flowers".
The little wind mourned the loss of misses flutter-by so deeply that he could no longer be free of it to express himself with the other flutter-bys and so he managed to persuade a beautiful young nightingale to let him become her beautiful song forever, for he was in love with a gorgeous little butterfly who no longer lived.
The romantically understanding nightingale obliged and sang so perfectly that she fell in love with her own voice for it seemed to express many types and forms of love and the little wind was happy.
The End

Author's Note

This was concieved of and put to paper within two hours while sitting in the garden one summers afternoon just looking at life at Aged 25.
I've altered none of the plot in 11 years..merely replaced a few single words but nothing else.
The more Discerning of you may be able to spot Instantly any faults in the grammar so please feel free to offer the assistance of your insights with regards to Exactions; or maybe let it be perhaps for the time being at least..I'm more interested really in The Opinion of People who have True Insight in The First Place..So what is Your Over-All feeling of it.
Its style is Homage to Hans Christian Anderson and Oscar Wilde..so any faults you find in The Style I'm not so sure I should be that sorry for in all fairness..it was a Nod of Respect and a Tip of The Hat towards those who Inspired an Important phase in my life.
But I have always been curious about just what exactly people might think of what I created with this piece though..and i feel it would help with any ability's I may possess currently to Finally have that Input from People.
So your opinions, whatever they may indeed be, would be gratefully Appreciated anyway and Accepted always. Regards to All

Reviews

[Relic]

I thought this was one of the most creative stories I've ever read on this site. I've been here a while too. The only distractions for me were the capital letters that seem to be in unnecessary places. Also, I'll assume you wanted to say wiked and not wicked.

Overall, an excellent story I'm glad I read. You've got tons of talent. Keep it up.

Great work.

[LuciusGray]

You may find 'Birth' a completely different aspect of me lol but thankyou for your comments and compliments regarding 'Constance'

[Relic]

When I have time I certainly will check it out. :)