print
A Spider Ate my Muse
At last, I’ve finally achieved the full metamorphosis and no longer see myself as an artist chasing after my muse, but instead, the ever-patient spider waiting, knowing the ideas will come fluttering along in the winds of chance until they land in the sticky entanglement of my web where I pounce from my resting place in the center, inject the venom, and suck the idea dry at that moment or wrap it in a cocoon for later. The ideas come as plentiful as mosquitoes on a warm summer night under the porch light and I have not the time nor the energy to devour them all. How many feasts I’ve missed, but how many more are to come.
|
Stealing
Wings from an Angel
The Secret Curse Surrenders