Creative Writing

Let's pretend I'm a creative writer ;-)

Wind whipped her shoulder length hair in swirls above her, slapping her forehead and howling in her ears. She squinted. Somewhere in the darkness was the child.
Light glistened off a silky black stone. She looked away. How tempting. What could she imagine the reflection to be? Anything that suited her wildest fantasies or hopes, and it wouldn’t change the truth. Did she really want the truth revealed?
Still she searched. She scoured the blackness before her and tried to make out shadows. Shadows barely discernible in the thick air – she was looking for something she wasn’t certain she wanted to see.
If she knew where the child lay – if she knew the most precious details of this being, or even the most minute whisper of his presence – how would it change her? Would she be exasperated? Would she be made restful?
Howling, waxing and waning ever so slightly, the wind enveloped her. Was it an embrace or a restraint? Meant to slow her down or encourage her on? What was this wind?! What was this message?
“Are you calling me?” Her voice was barely audible but husky in desperation. Despair.
Subtle peace fell over her with the next gust of air. Unhurried, patient, it swooped around her ankles and brushed the tops of her feet.
“How I thirst, and how you satisfy.” She sank to her knees, coarse grass bending reluctantly out of her way. She rested on her heels, drank in the answer of silence.
She summoned the energy to rest.