the blue muse

Everything gets lost in the shuffle sometimes, but lately the shuffle has taken over. Writing has gone by the wayside, and I find myself longing for old habits, empty hours, blank pages.

Life keeps getting crazier or I keep getting slower, or a wild combination of both.

My mind races and there are days when I can’t keep up. I walk outside for brief moments to inhale the smell of autumn, a season I’ve missed in the name of busyness.

This morning the smell of frost on the horizon drew me into the yard, hundreds of geese honking herald to the sun, a clear sky marked only by the low-hanging upside-down crescent of moon.

Crisp is the color and bird is the song. Survival is the vein that runs ‘neath my feet.

Leaves crackle and I think again how I must find time for raking.

The bluejay calls his warning and another day begins.

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