There’s a muse who moves quietly through the minutes of the hours between 2 and 4 most mornings.
A gauzy white slip drapes and flows over her naked skin, long thin fingers form mudras as her slender feet and toes purposefully land each step before she takes the next. Her movements are calculated, smooth and slow like smoke swirling and wrapping around logs in a fireplace before new flames fully ignite and glow. She quickens her pace, lengthening her stride and extending her arms, one in each direction, then turns her head backwards. Is someone faintly calling her name? She runs the fingers of her left hand through the wavey strands of hair covering the side of her face, pushing it back so she can see. She blinks, raises her gaze and reaches her left hand straight back, palm up, inviting someone to take her fingers and join her. Then she’s gone.
Beautiful.
Tonight, I set my alarm. Need to meet this lady....😎🙏