The Muse

I am driven by the muse. She is mostly lurking in the James River in Coastal Virginia. She also might be hidden a pattern in a leaf or the curl of a snail shell I found in my garden. Maybe she’s in a worm-eaten piece of driftwood or curves in a ripple in the sand. She could be standing proud in the symmetry of train tracks or in the dingy rust of an old pail. She calls to me from everywhere.

My love for her is strong