My muse is an awkward but oddly elegant girl with wavy brown hair so long she sits on it most of the time. She wears dirty jeans and boots beneath her blue sparkly princess dress. She wears a pair of crooked fairy wings. She looks like a little kid until you look at her face and then you’re not sure how old she is at all: it’s a wise face, pointed and fairy-like.
My muse went on an adventure without me, just sort of wandered away from the house like a dog stubbornly following a scent. Somewhere along the way she forgot what scent she was following; she was distracted by the whirls in the stump of a tree, or a symphony of bees passing by. Then she just kept walking. Now she’s on some rural road, directionless, thumbing for a ride.
If you see my muse, please bring her home to me. She means well. She might try to steal a button from your coat if she likes the smooth shine of it. She might search for treasure in the cushions of your car. But she won’t cause you any harm.