Another in the Traveling Doorway series! This one from Chinon, France. Looks like the portal to a Secret Garden, don't you think?
Doors give me that mini-awe feeling, like the Muse is knocking on...
well, that would be too punny. She does have a sense of humor, doesn't she!
Mine tends to whisper in my ear, telling me all the things I need to hear:
She tells me that I am good, whole; that I can inspire that awe feeling with my writing.
But it seems to me that when pen gets to paper and push to prose,
My Muse has left the building.
She inspires, teases and then hides, as if to say,
"Go ahead. See if you can do it without me! See if you really NEED me!"
Where exactly does she go? What? Is she busy?
Excuse me, but what kind of other appointment does "My" Muse have
that would keep her away?
A writing friend once made the statement that she suspected
her muse had finally sobered up after drinking at the bar.
And mine?
What, does she have an early Squash game?
An all day Body Glow Spa treatment?
Or is she moonlighting with other writers?
Do we not each get our own or aren't there enough to go around?
Should I be leaving out chocolate or cookies at night
like children do for Santa?
What does she like? Martinis? Do I want a hungover Muse?
How 'bout coffee? With chocolate in it?
Any possible way I could leave a cup of java out with my work
and have her pull an all-nighter while I sleep?
Chocolate sprinkles on top?
This too much to ask?Okay, ok, I NEED you!
(Photographs copyright: Kirsten Steen)
