Maybe she will find it again

(This sort of shares some themes with my post from last week, hope y'all will bear with it)

Years ago, her muse left her...or she left her muse, neither is very clear on how it happened.

But happen it did, and her pages are black and white and dead…

She drags them from their slumber, bringing back what ought to be gone.

She can’t help trying to resurrect the words., the pages of what once was.

So she sits at her desk; she sits on her porch, on a nature trail, in the back of her car, waiting and praying and chanting around the flimsy manuscript dead before its time.

Some days she thinks about her muse, and where it must have gotten to.

Perhaps Fiji; it’s supposed to be nice this time of year….well, any time of year.

The muse is gone, though, and she remains.

How many spells will it take, how many bouts of dark magic?

What will it take to earn her passage to far off island in the sea?



-Kat