A Musing

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A monarch keeps flitting about my yard. It has avoided the many birds swooping through, and brings a smile to my face. I have milkweed, but it appears the few little ones which hatched have succumbed to the circle of life.

Silly little things like this inspire me. In my latest novel, in the middle of a battle, which the good guys are losing, a lone butterfly will flutter past the disheartened soldiers, giving them a small glimmer of hope.

Another way I am being inspired lately, is my new puppy.

This is Vader. (Darth Bob Vader if you ask my youngest and my dad) He didn’t have a great start to life, but he is learning. Nibbling on everything, and half listening, are my daily experiences. Such is the way of a puppy.

Vader makes me have to sit in the grass more often, and remember how to play. He sort of gets fetch, and it makes me smile when he understands what is going on. At almost 12 weeks, he is coming along great.

Have you ever watched a puppy play? With Vader it’s rough and tumble, running like mad, and interesting wipe outs. I laugh, want to beat, am exhausted regularly, and loving it all. He gives me ideas at how certain species should fight in my little war. Quick strikes, fighting hand to hand in a rough and tumble way, and failing to succeed some of the time. But learning. It’s still morning, and he has shown me so much already.

No matter what muse has bit you, don’t sell anything short. If you look, you will find inspiration is all around you.

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A Whisper From The Wind

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Today I am lucky to have another sunny morning, with a light breeze. Where I live, a light breeze is welcome. (the lake likes to give us gusting wind) The soft kiss on my cheek to let me know the wind blowers are still about. One should never take the wind blowers for granted.

They are brothers and sisters, in a constant battle for supremacy. Some days they work in unison, but usually they like to fight. Just watch the clouds as they float by. Some are pushed one way, and other the opposite. “Don’t push your clouds to me,” they holler at each other. Us mortals only hear it as wind whistling through the trees. Sometimes they rage, and if you are on the sea, you suffer the wrath.

I enjoy when the breeze is about. My windchimes tell dark spirits to stay away, and help fairies flit about the petals of my flowers. When a dandelion is ready to burst its white seeds, a breeze helps them dance. “Farewell” say the fairies, for it is they who nurtured the dandelion to this point. They are sad for only a breath, for more flowers require their attention.

Today I will listen to the whispers. The wind has many stories, and if you listen with your imagination, you might be lucky enough to hear one.