Wrapped in a vortex of fallen leaves, Zephyr materializes from out of the mist. His majestic wings flutter, leaving behind a scent of charred forest and wildflower honey. Before him cowers the River Nymph, Willow, her eyes wide in astonishment. Cast out and fearing her magic all but lost, she desperately yet trepidatiously accepts his offerings, his promises of power and immortality. “Dear child, reach deep down into your being and sup of the elixir of Eternal Life,” says Zephyr as he tilts a bejeweled chalice toward Willow’s ruby-blushed face. Her eyes clench shut as she feels the scarlet nectar burst upon her tongue; crimson pitahaya, strawberry, ripe pear and gunpowder tantalize her senses, while the exotic aromas of tomato leaf and kaffir lime draw her back to the burbling mountain steam where she was born. As Zephyr gazes upon her, lips quirked in a mischievous smirk, she understands, this is where she belongs, she is whole, singing under the willows with the gentle West Wind, feet dangling delightfully in the cool water of her placid brook.
notes by tim small, qui apporte la joie