One of Aesop’s Fables is “The Wind and The Sun.” I have written my own fable by tweaking Aesop’s and have called it:
The Sun and the Wind and Prince
Once upon a time, the Sun, and the Wind argued about who was stronger. The Wind said, watch and I will make that poor human down there take off her coat. And to prove the point, the Wind blew. With all his might he blew like an old nor’easter, cold and hard and wet. Yet all the human did was wrap her coat tighter around her. The Sun had bided his time watching the Wind lose his argument and his breath. Smiling a brilliant, glossy yellow smile, the Sun cleared his throat and said, I almost feel bad doing this. And the Sun casually flung a few of his sun beams onto the human woman’s head. She pulled the collar of her coat away from her perspiring neck. One of these days, when no one is depending on me, she thought, I will slip out of my coat and hold it over my head for some shade.
Prince had been silent until then, but now he said, look at you fools. What do you know about people? Look at you pushing that woman all over God’s earth. She doesn’t want to play your games, or even wear clothes. Definitely not that awful coat. Yeah, go on, sniff at me. You’d love to know what’s under that coat.
So Prince smiled at the woman and reached for his guitar. He played a few notes, and the air stirred. On the sidewalk, the woman, his target, stumbled. The Sun said ha and slapped at the Wind. Nice, sniped the Wind. Prince played a chord and let the sound hang and the strings shiver and quieten on their own. The woman put her bags down for a moment on a nearby bench. The sky was gray, the light was thin, and the wind was still. She could feel the air cool her lips as her lungs sucked it in. She hummed faintly to herself. They were the same notes the guitar had made. The woman lifted her hair off her neck and stretched.
Prince’s smile left his lips. He played a riff that left a question in the air. The woman—let’s call her Holly—shook her head, feeling suddenly quite beautiful. She looked around her, and, seeing no one, sat down on the bench and let her coat fall open. The Sun and the Wind looked from Prince to the woman’s lap and back. The dress there outlined her thighs and moved up as the woman stretched more and arched her back. Prince played, the woman squirmed, and the Sun and the Wind adjusted themselves.
He improvised next, embellishing “Let’s Go Crazy,” each measure of the tune lasting longer and spiraling into other tunes more than the measure before it. The woman took it well. She seemed to bask in the sun that was not there in that gray sky. She lifted her chest, and the neckline of her dress widened. Her legs emerged nude from beneath her skirt without a hint of wind to help them. The Sun and the Wind had the good sense to sit back and enjoy the scene. And Prince played into the evening, long after the woman had gathered her things and had left in a hazy pleasure coma. (She made it to her apartment, by the way, feeling relaxed, desired, and very hungry.)
Memento vivere (look it up, kid).