He preferred Will-o’-the-wisp to Ignis Fatuus, or you could call him just plain Will and he’d not mind, or Willy if you were close.  One of his paramours had affectionately called him Wispy Will, he’d sort of liked that.  But Ignis Fatuus was not only pompous, but sounded gaseous, sort of like sentient flatulence, which, unfortunately, made sense.  Will preferred to focus on his luminosity though.

“Foot lose and fancy free” he’d sometimes hum as he travelled hither and yon, seeking not even he knew what or whom, he was just driven you might say, he certainly would.  He preferred marshes, especially around dusk, and at dawn, and he liked to pop out of what appeared to be the ether, but ether was not all that popular anymore.  Blasted scientists!

None knew where he lived, or if he’d ever had a Mum or a Dad, or siblings even.  He liked the sibilant sound of the word though, “siblings”, and he liked to elongate it, “siiiiibliiiings”.  Sometimes he felt certain he must have had all of the foregoing but that had been so long ago that he could not recall, not even memories of once having had memories concerning them.

Some claimed that he was fey, or at least one of the Fey.  He liked that too.  It made him feel a part of something greater than an ethereal, ephemeral ball of smelly gas.  Sometimes he’d pretend that he was just lost and seeking his family, or perhaps his clan, and sometimes he’d believe that was true.  The truth is that he’d played at that game so often he had no idea what the truth was.  Not even an inkling.

He did like to float though, and over the years and then the ages, he’d gotten sort of good at it.  And at popping on and off, appearing and disappearing seemingly at will.  He wondered sometimes whether or not that ability had not, at some point, been responsible for his sobriquet.  It wasn’t really a nickname though, “a nickname required a real name didn’t it” he’d sometimes whisper to himself, or even to those who unsuccessfully sought him.  His life was, after all, a perpetual game of hide and seek, one he always won as he never played the seeking part.  Or at least he didn’t think he did.

“Will-o’-the-wisp he was, he was”, no matter what others deigned to call him, unless it was Will or Willy or Wispy Will, but certainly not “Ignis Fatuus”, at least not for a thousand years or so.  He’d sing that sometimes to the tune of a song by a young British group of hermits led by someone named Herman whose spouse had apparently been married seven times previously and for some reason, that had seemed a point of pride to Herman.  But Will mainly liked the tune and would hum it to himself, making up new verses, or repeating old verses he’d once made up and then perhaps forgotten, … perhaps.  There had been other tunes he’d taken up in the past, making up his own lyrics as he floated, somewhat bloated, from place to place.  One had to do with a “Yankee”, whatever that was, who’d gone to a large city now called London to ride a pony or something.  Strange.  He recalled London when it was a mere hint of a village, not even yet Londinium and still had plenty of marshes in which he could play, but that had been quite a while ago.

He actually recalled quite a great many places and many, many foolish people who unsuccessfully tried to catch him, especially during the fall and early winter, and the very early spring.  He could be in many places at the same time and then, no where at all, time being a sort of stream to him, one of several in which he could play.  And sometimes he’d even run into himself, which was sort of confusing, but he always recognized himself and who and what he was, so he’d just whisper a sibilant sibling greeting and move on.

“I’m Willy-o’-the-wisp I am, Willy-o’-the-wisp I am I am, I got married to the widow next door, she’s been married seven time before, and every one was a Willy, never had a Henry or a Sam, Willy-o’-the-wisp I am I am, Willy-o’-the-wisp I am, Willy-o’-the-wisp I am, Willy-o’-the-wisp I am!

Sigh!”
_______

© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2023; all rights reserved.  Please feel free to share with appropriate attribution.

Guillermo (“Bill”) Calvo Mahé (a sometime poet) is a writer, political commentator and academic currently residing in the Republic of Colombia (although he has primarily lived in the United States of America of which he is also a citizen).  Until 2017 he chaired the political science, government and international relations programs at the Universidad Autónoma de Manizales.  He is currently the publisher of the Inannite Review, available at Substack.com, a commentator on Radio Guasca FM, and an occasional contributor to the regional magazine, el Observador.  He has academic degrees in political science (the Citadel), law (St. John’s University), international legal studies (New York University) and translation and linguistic studies (the University of Florida’s Center for Latin American Studies).  However, he is also fascinated by mythology, religion, physics, astronomy and mathematics, especially with matters related to quanta and cosmogony.  He can be contacted at guillermo.calvo.mahe@gmail.com and much of his writing is available through his blog at https://guillermocalvo.com/.