Tucked away in a small corner of the mind she sits behind a closed door. Stacks of locked boxes line the walls, each one filled with random words and ideas. You would think that she would be willing to share from her collection but sometimes she acts like an irrational child, stomping her feet and refusing to allow access. Other times she is like a sullen teenager refusing to open the door or communicate her feelings.

 If you are lucky she will slip out of her room boxes in hand offering them up as a peace offering allowing you to open each one to select words to string together conveying a thought process, a feeling or maybe something much deeper or perhaps darker.

There is no consistency nor a time line to her antics. She can be as quiet as a mouse or scream as if her home is on fire. You bend to her will because once she is on a roll she will not let you ignore her. There is no rhyme or reason for her behaviour.You simply learn to play by her rules. Be patient and learn.

She is my muse.