Muse 13: Secret Garden

There is a place everyone wishes they could go to, somewhere secret and unknown, that has a path so they won't get lost. Alice has been there. Peter lives there. It is a land that we have only dreamed of seeing. Lost has myriad implications that will never mean that same thing once; like a fire that cannot be photographed identically. In a frenzy of definitions, I wonder: How can I feel good when I'm lost, on my own, knowing that the only route is a carved direction filled with simplicity. And yet how can I feel so bad when I'm lost, on my own, knowing that no one will ever find me again. The path feels so soft and earthly underneath my feet, where the dirt slowly eats away at my calloused soles to expose the gentle, baby skin. The wet morning dew kissing my sore, blistered red feet is the only thing that can hurt me. I think I will continue running, no matter what "lost" has in store for me.

Muse 10: Teacup

image via pavlunka

The table was so radiantly beautiful. Everything was placed invitingly in a way only such boastful colors could offer. It was not green or purple - no, the colors were much more named, such as lime or magenta. These colors with magnificent character cried out not to be ignored. As if the party was crying out to her, "Come to me, come to me. Come rest your body near me and take whatever you wish!" In the midst of a well groomed garden grove, the littered delights on the table called to her like wind chimes responding to a breath of crisp, fresh air that swept through the scenery. As her tiny feet pedaled down the hill, tumbled daintily with the grace of a quick ballerina, she found herself tumbling down the hill where Jack had been waiting all his life.