Musing in a Bubble

The other day, Strangling My Muse posted a blog entitled “Who Is Your Muse?” and in it was a writing exercise called “My muse is…” and I really enjoyed it. Ideally, you would answer this question 15-20 times, ending the sentence with the first thing that pops into your head, no matter how silly or off the wall.

So I gave it a try. Naturally, with my toddler in the living room with me, I only got it done seven times but I still like them.

= = =

My muse is bubbles pouring by the hundred from a bubble-maker. Bubbles I wish I could gather up into a basket like opalescent treasure so I could keep them and the magic that each bubble holds.

My muse is the smell of chocolate chip cookies and the peace of moment in each bite. The stress before or even the guilt afterward don’t matter. Just the sweet piece of happy bound up with each bite.

My muse is the rarest of things in this day and age: a unexpected phone call. That and the happiness that spreads throughout my core for hours after the call has ended. How is it that someone’s voice is the last thing we expect to hear and yet it can make us so happy?

My muse is watching my daughter act out her favorite movie and knowing that she will never really be alone with these beloved characters by her side.

My muse is a warmth that fits perfectly with my own, connecting body, mind, and heart like perfectly sculpted puzzle pieces.

My muse is the rumble of thunder, the power that waits in the distance. Once upon a time, it was frightful but now it is soul-soothing.

My muse is the early morning quiet, the Christmas Day anticipation that we often miss in the rush of our feet hitting the floor and the PLAY button being pushed on the day.


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