The Wonder of the Muse

It’s the cool rush of fire shooting down the limbs, filling up the head, the heart, the page.

The spirit.

The muse, some people call it.

But what’s in a name? said the muse, to the writer who sat his desk once upon a time,  dipping and scribbling, waiting for his words to fly.

It’s bigger than a name, surely— this mysterious, creative force.

It’s a train that barrels through the writers imagination, often with no known destination.

It’s a one-sided phone call from the heavens, where no words are spoken, but millions are heard.

And written.

And felt.

Music. Books. We’ve all felt those.

It’s a feeling like no other, this force that takes the creative folk of this world. Magic in a million whispers; an offer they’ll either drop or fly into the sunset with.

It’s a chest flooded with light and a dare to fill a blank page.

It’s an epiphany.

A promise.

A gift.

A gift for writers and a gift for the readers of their words.

A gift for humanity, is what it is.

Mysterious and strange.

And overflowing with wonder.