When the Muses Speak…

Part One

The past three months have been filled with book marketing tasks to the point where every day (all seven) had something to do and I wondered if my creative muses had taken umbrage to this summary displacement. But true to the adage that to everything there is a season, they returned. This morning. Thank goodness. Pre-dawn. As usual. Oh, all right.

It must have been about a quarter to five when the first nudge came. I ignored it thinking that it was about the full glass of water I had before bed. But then the thoughts began to shoulder in. Like an eyelid lifted and the question, are you awake? Then the whisper in my inner ear. Tell them about the parade. And the alpine flowers and the clearing and the ceremony. The ceremony? Ah yes, the ceremony you are going to tell me about. Oh, yes and the thing you forgot to say in your interview last week. Right. Welcome back.

I resisted while the bedroom window was still dark, and snuggled deeper under the duvet when a flash of lightening lit the window and the thunder rolled, followed by shushing of big rain. I resisted even later when the window began to glow against the dark wall. I would let the words spin around and tumble themselves into loose sentences and then awkward paragraphs so that when I finally got up and sat down to write it would all sort itself out on the page.

But muses take it for granted that they can just give you a word or two and you will get it in full, but that is not always the case. I let myself repeat the ideas so they took hold in my wakening brain. Then when the second – whole different – topic started bubbling up, I swung out of bed, with grey morning light now slicing through the shutters. I don’t want to waken Athan so I throw on my black and grey cashmere cardigan over my white nightgown and pull on oversized aqua wool socks and finish off this writerly attire with Athenian leather sandals and step out of the warmth of the bedroom into the cool living room. It’s actually also the hall and the kitchen too.

I open the drapes so I can look out over my beloved sea. It is a vision that another writer at another time described as grey flannel. I cannot do better than that to describe the cool wet monochrome of sea, island and distant mountains. The rain of these past weeks, while not welcome from a laundry perspective or a parade, has brought the land alive in greens and yellows. Calendula and mustard joyfully bloom where our structured vegetable garden once was. But what was it the muses wanted again? Right… alpine flowers.

Me agapi,