...quiet, about a lot of things...

This is a strange and twisted,yet every bit true tale, about what happens when you chose to pull the curtain, and talk directly to the muse. One should court, yet never converse.

I've said before, my muse is a person, a man. Every once in while I check in on his "real self" through his blogs. With him, this is not a hard thing to do. He is not omnipresent,...but lets just say he is not hard to find. He's been living in the net for a very long time. It's very easy to catch his tail.

As my muse, he is really not a man at all,but rather, a boyish memory. I am not the kind of girl who has had one true love. So, he wasn't "the one". But he was one of the ones who shaped me. Even as a young man, he impressed me. In ways he was much younger than I was. But in others, he was way ahead of me. At one time we were simpatico. I was bold then, and very soft. Not the quiet, somewhat hardened girl I've become. I had ideas. He had ideas. We shared ideas.

So, browsing his blog...I decided to "raz" him a bit about his recall of certain events. I show up every so often, to tease him about this thing or that. I'm sure he's just thrilled. But no matter, it rekindles the creative juices. He is still smart, concise....and guarded. Makes him a good muse. He draws a line and stays behind it. I like that. This is not flirting...but coaxing, courting.

After little banter over semantics, I asked him how his back was. My muse has a bad back. This is a distinctly human trait. This is where the gods(I think) got a little peeved at my lack of decorum.

He gave a pinched answer. Clearly, my toes were to close to his line. The brief exchange ended. I went off to ride my horse. To be honest, I searched for something clever to offer back to him, in retort. That's what the muse kindles in me...energy.

I thought of talking about my comrades in the paraquestrain world. How those who have been injured have so much more grieving to do. They have lost the bodies they once had, that used to obey and perform on command.But his ailment is not that bad,(I don't think it is)I didn't want to scare or offend him.

Ultimately, I had nothing clever to say. So I rode my horse. I forgot all about muses and thing to say. My horse always does that for me. I had a jumping lesson. Things were going quite well. And then...There was a four stride line..out over an oxer (wide square jump) and Roux stopped, then jumped...in a split second. We were together over the top...and not together on the far side. I looked up to see his hooves jumping to avoid my head, as I landed on my side and back. It was one of those knock your breath out falls, in which you think you are going to die. You desperately try to jump start your diaphragm....and then thank god you can breathe again.

I was up, on my feet, in the saddle, over that jump within 5 minutes.However, I must note, I am getting WAY to old for this...Did you hear me ROUX...WAY TO OLD!!!!

Driving home it occurred to me...clever things to say..my back is screaming the details to me. The muse had come through. The gods were happy to oblige me with more stories of Kismet...they just demanded a price. I was getting a little big for my breeches!!I was more than welcome to find common ground with my muse. But it was gonna cost me.

Ouch.