Sometimes the Muse isn’t here.
I don’t know where she goes, whether she’s being petulant or just teasing. Maybe she slips into the deeper recesses of the subconscious where it’s all dark and murky, and your right course of action is not to go there poking around. That spooky part of the mind is no place for amateurs, and we’re all amateurs.
On such days maybe introspection should give way to “extrospection.” Just let it all wash over whatever you think is you.
Today is a passive, present-tense sort of day. The rain falls (it so seldom rises), the bagel shop murmurs, there is a nice chill in the superfluous late spring air conditioning. The Muse is curled up, sleeping soundly.
She’s so cute when she’s asleep; I’ll just tiptoe away and let her be…