Nia’s expression invited Thalia’s question. “Berry for your thoughts?” The Muse of Determination pulled first the right, then the left, pod from her ears. The trio and their scribe had just listened to a podcast that set her senses and nerves on edge. Grateful for Tal’s question, and an opportunity to think her feelings through, she replied, “There was time when I would have been all in on the problems and advice we just heard. In fact, there was a time when I would have drooled to have Typist be part of something similar.”
I used to know this: when using SubStack on my iPhone and needing to look something up, mid-comment, sometimes there is simply no coming back to the earlier part of the comment! Grrrr. Pooof!
The kernel of my remark was to acknowledge typist’s commitment to learning, practicing discernment, and showing little attraction to the group-speak of the moment. Not anti-social by a long shot. Perhaps enlightened. Note: blushing is entirely optional. 😉
Those properties brought to mind Robert Frost’s well known poem, “The Road Not Taken.” It’s final three lines serve to summarize:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I chose the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Earlier lines of the poem describe the elements of his choosing. He suggests each would appear to be a good choice. They appear nearly equally traveled, and each bears newly fallen leaves, not yet blackened by any form of travel. Was his choosing that of intuition? By chance? He tries to justify his choice factually but quickly decides there’s not much difference to note. Just as Frost exhibits discernment, we too see that in our typist’s practices.
And today I sit privileged to witness Gail and the Muses relying on nuances of discernment.
Note: No money changed hands in the writing of this post. 😬
I missed something. Which podcast?
The confluence of fresh strawberries, blackberries, and raspberries was on our table last night. It was divine.
T-shirt: “How old do you have to be to know what’s going on? (Asking for a friend.)” 😁
I was indifferent to strawberries until late in life, when friends introduced me to local, field-grown strawberries (as opposed to the commercial variety in groceries, bred to look pretty for as long as possible). Alas, the strawberry season here is, depending on the quirks of weather: short, very short, or "oh, are we done with strawberries already? nobody told me!" 😢
As a child I loved when my mom would read us The Fly Away Horse by Eugine Fields. We had a set of The Book of Knowledge encyclopedias and this poem was in it. I loved looking at the picture of the winged horse with little ones on it's back. The background behind them was a mystical place with lollipops growing, fruit trees etc. After we lost my dad my sister was going to throw them out because the info in them was so out dated. I snatched in a heart beat and have them here with me. It is the memories I cherish.
All this talk of fresh berries has me feeling a little jealous right now. No fresh berries in the desert. So, I will live vicariously through your stories for now… I am amazed at how Typist continues to develop her discernment muscles. Obviously she’s been working out! 😉