the return of the muse...
in the usual course of events i receive text messages from two people.
there is my dear friend shona, who possesses (perhaps) the fastest thumbs in the world! shona messages me in a shona type shorthand .... considerably easier to understand than her wonderful broad scots accent! we worked together as carers in the small village of ballantrae and she keeps me up to date on the village comings and goings. shona also texts me absolutely filthy jokes ... which i enjoy immensely and delete instantly ... lest the thought police find such filth on my poor innocent mobile!
my muse (who lives across the pond) and i, were want to communicate via phone, email, text and even the occasional hand written letter! of course, since i managed to lose my muse i have had to learn to exist without the warm comfort of our deliciously entwined communications. now... my muse is a writer of enormous talent, she weaves a tale with the precision of a master.her books are always researched with immaculate care, her descriptive talents stir the imagination and entice the mind...but ... when it came to texting ....she was a word miser!i would receive very short, cryptic messages, such as "go away" or "call" or even a number. the numbers sometimes caused me a little confusion as they could either be ... new york time at which i should call, or .... a new number where i should call.
saturday night at roughly 22.50, i was winding down and preparing to take to my bed when my mobile beeped...an incoming text message! i thought my heart would stop, i momentarily forgot to breath. could it possibly be my muse, who else would text me at this late hour. i managed to unlock my mobile without deleting the message (my grateful thanks to the saint who watches over those of us with "fumble fingers"). it was indeed an instruction from my lost muse, "call at 18.00"! well actually, if i mean to keep to the facts, the message actually read "call me at 6."... now anyone, who has spent two and a half years of their life loving and being inspired by a muse from new york would instantly know this meant... wait until eleven your time and then phone me, look sharp about it ...i may be prepared to talk to you!
hope, that long lost emotion, stirred ...restlessly unsure. i grab a cigarette and fly out of the kitchen door. i smoke outside, i pace while i smoke, my heart rhythm is definitely rattled. i pace and check the time, never have ten minutes extended themselves in such a frustrating manner. 23.00 and i dial.
i feel the sun shine, warm upon my shoulders. i hear the music of birdsong, i glory in the stars which light the heavens... my muse is back, all is once more well in my world .....