Willy laying by the table.Willy was a member of our family, my best buddy and will forever remain alive in my heart. He left us for the rainbow bridge last year and while he was alive, he changed forever how I perceive and understand the way some animals think and act. One day when Willy was about nine months old―almost but not quite full grown―Marg made spaghetti for dinner and as on so many other occasions, what ensued next woke up the muse...

The Muse

"Boy oh boy does that smell good. I can't wait for dinner. She's been cooking that stuff all day and I just can't wait for dinner. Mike ALWAYS shares with me and I can't wait."


Picture of Tangled Yarn.The mind's eye creates images in the space of instant. You see something, you hear something and the picture forms, and then it never leaves. Eventually something triggers the memory and you remember and new images form new thoughts and the muse writes and if you're lucky, it won't be a tangled mess...

The Muse
"I'm never going to get back. I'm stuck and I may as well shut it off and lose everything. But if I shut it off, will I get out? Will I be done? Is it over?"


Picture of a skateboard.I remember when I was a kid, sometimes you'd give a girl a ride on your bike. She could sit on the handlebars or side-saddle on the main bar. If you had a book rack, she could sit on that too which was really nice because she'd put her arms around your waist. Two teens met in front of my house as I sat at the computer working. He had his skateboard and as she approached, he showed off a little. As she walked up to meet him, and the musing began...


Picture of a rooster pheasant on snow.It is the day after Christmas sometime in the late 1990s. We are heading home from northern Wisconsin back to Illinois and my wife Margaret is driving the pickup. There are two dogs in the cab and I'm half dozing, drowsy from the holiday excitement, one last overstuffed meal from mom's kitchen, and lack of sleep. We top a rise and you can see for a good two miles. Ahead on the right is a large field with a truck parked in it, some one hundred or so yards from the road. Two people stand behind the truck wearing orange vests and they are obviously going hunting. As we draw close at seventy plus miles per hour, the muse begins to write...

With apologies to Clement Clark Moore...

 

Sketch of Santa Clause holding toys and a long stem pipe,Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house,

Not a keyboard was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the router with care,

In hopes that St. Nickolas soon would be there.