Trust wears a dancer’s skirt

Urania swept stray dandelion seeds into her hand and dropped them into the trash. “What we want to do is… conventional things in unconventional ways. Like our love letters, for example. How many bloggers call their missives love letters?”

“How many bloggers allow three sugar-driven muses to write their love letters?” Typist asked while somehow managing to hold a straight face.

Calliope plucked mindlessly discarded dandelion seeds from the trash with the delicate precision of Katherine Johnson computing the trajectory of John Glenn’s re-entry into earth’s orbit. She held her hand out through the window and gave a gentle puff, setting them free.

“You know what I’m thinking about?” Tal asked.

“No.” Urania and Calliope shared a wondering look.

“A story… about a seed that took root inside a decrepit barn. The stem-turned-trunk twisted and wound it way through stones and metal equipment, reaching toward the sunlight that cascaded through a hole in the roof. When the trunk and branches grew up and out, its growth became straight and sun-drenched, as if smiled upon and nourished by God himself. Isn’t that lovely?”

“Yes.” Cal and Nia shared a smile. “Now let’s get out under that sunshine ourselves.”

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Words from Typist:

Thank you.

Every day as I write I’m aware of the contributions you make toward me, the muses… and 3mm.

Your comments, conversations, book suggestions — why the muses themselves were a gift from another writer who sent them off the be ensconced in my head in Wisconsin — all of it makes what I do possible.

Grateful.

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In “C” news… This is the first Thursday since March 3rd that I haven’t gone to the cancer center. 🎉