Muse

 

 In my little private world my muse is a rebel who lives on the edge of my vision. She is a fairy who´s been punished for reckless flying and she´s not keen on making my life too easy. I´m suspicious she doesn´t  like digital photography very much.

 She stands there, eternally in beach flip-flops, cow bell jeans, striped shirt, thick defiant blonde hair and her little pierced nose, grinning mischievously at me. Cupid with a mohawk  is spying on us, giggles and then realises I´m hopelessly lost and his arrow is unnecessary.

 She tends to surf over solar winds and when she finally decides I´m ready for her dash of magic, she dives down across the winds of Scirroco and clouds of candy floss  above my world. She often flies by dragonfly when the weather is calm and on other occasions she appears in my frenzied darkness guided by a squadron of loyal fireflies.

 Her heart is wildfire,her shadow is a Bengali tiger and her laugh is a dream come true.  I carry her off on midnight walks, barefoot under full moon flooded beaches and she listens intently to my dreams. She is determined on mutiny and full-out rebellion in my otherwise calm life, reminding me, what it is to be a kid.

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