Missing My Muse
On my list this afternoon: experimenting all over again with chocolate granola recipes . Reading Things Your Mother Never Told You because I am on a chick-lit roll. Shopping for an infusion teapot , a yoga mat that won’t startle my bedroom floor with too much colour and a tub of lavender sugar from Waitrose. Planning an evening of journalling and wishing Roger and Val Have Just Got In was on tonight instead of tomorrow night. Harassing the kitten with a pompom.
Oooh and hoping my writing muse is on her way back from the rather unexpected holiday she seems to have taken…
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She'll be back. I know, because I just bumped into her this afternoon.
"Goodness!" I said. "Aren't you Alison's Muse and shouldn't you be a couple of hundred miles south-west of here?"
She smiled, in that curious way of hers, and assured me that she was simply taking a short break to see Edinburgh's ancient old closes and wynds, and feel the wind rushing round corners to ruffle her hair, and that she planned to be back with you just as soon as she had pondered the many lives the Royal Mile has seen, from the plain and the ordinary schoolgirl in Honor Arundel's 'The High House' of the 1970s trudging home in her uniform trying to feel that the flat up in the high buildings is home after her parents' sudden death, to Mary Queen of Scots and Saint Margaret making their way up the steep cobbles in silks and satins with pattens over their embroidered slippers raising them above the mud, and small beggar-children running after to see the pretty ladies.
She's a wise woman, your Muse, and she knows that sometimes one needs a little space and distance to see more clearly…
Laura_Elsewhere xxx
She'll be back. I know, because I just bumped into her this afternoon.
"Goodness!" I said. "Aren't you Alison's Muse and shouldn't you be a couple of hundred miles south-west of here?"
She smiled, in that curious way of hers, and assured me that she was simply taking a short break to see Edinburgh's ancient old closes and wynds, and feel the wind rushing round corners to ruffle her hair, and that she planned to be back with you just as soon as she had pondered the many lives the Royal Mile has seen, from the plain and the ordinary schoolgirl in Honor Arundel's 'The High House' of the 1970s trudging home in her uniform trying to feel that the flat up in the high buildings is home after her parents' sudden death, to Mary Queen of Scots and Saint Margaret making their way up the steep cobbles in silks and satins with pattens over their embroidered slippers raising them above the mud, and small beggar-children running after to see the pretty ladies.
She's a wise woman, your Muse, and she knows that sometimes one needs a little space and distance to see more clearly…
Laura_Elsewhere xxx
Some days your heart just spills onto the paper and some days it goes quietly into it's room and shuts the door. Not to eat chocolates and cry or anything, but just to have some peaceful alone time.
That's a good thing; enjoy it. 🙂