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How Thalia took control of the helm and paddle was a bit of a mystery.
For decades the Muses of Determination and Harmony drove, relegating The Muse of Wit, with her whimsy and passion, to the back seat.
“Typist wants a paddle board. I want a paddle board! Those old kayaks we paddle around in are uncomfortable.” Thalia shook her curls into the breeze without an ounce of shame.
“But, but… They’re still functional,” Nia protested.
Calliope looked skyward for inspiration. “Ummm… the red one leaks. Typist did have to drain a gallon of water from the vessel before sliding it into truck yesterday.”
“Where would we keep it?” Nia’s pressing reason and logic pressed.
Cal countered with, “Inflatable paddle boards fit into a backpack.”
Thalia’s expression was serene as her friends worked through the mind games of a next step.
“And the cost?” Nia asked.
“Minimal in relation to the joy it will bring…” Cal’s voice lilted on the word bring, leaving it unclear if she was making a statement or asking a question.
Nia nibbled a nail.
Cal sat down and dangled her feet in the water.
And Thalia… trusted that energy would follow her intention.
Words from Typist:
What does your spirit long for?
The soaring bird’s wings of imagination are held by the wind as the ocean draws infinity from limitation.