My muse had hidden herself for quite some time until the recent full moon. That morning she greeted me in soft ivory, lighting up the rag-tag remnants of clouds that had made their way across the South from the latest hurricane . From the day after that to the last visible sliver two mornings ago, she taunted me with icy brilliance in a star-studded sky, beauty to take the breath and deepen all known and hidden longings to follow her call . . .
But taunting it was, as ideas flooded my mind with no energy, no time, no space physical or emotional, to pursue any of them into more words on a page than now-illegible or incoherent notes. And so, the urgent still filling my days, helpless hopelessness has led to lassitude, with its familiar omens of the lurking darkness that always haunts me . . .