Muse

It’s springtime—or maybe it’s summer; only a calendar could clear the confusion. I’m sitting on my front porch, drinking my first cup of coffee of the day. These are moments I cherish as the sun starts to peek over the horizon at my back. It’s warm outside, but the breeze is cool as it sweeps across the heavily dew-covered ground. The silence is only broken by the sound of birds singing, and all is well in my soul. This is what I long for: slow, silent mornings, coffee, and quiet contemplation.

I look at my flower beds and, if I stare closely, I swear I can see the tulips waking up at the hint of sunrise. They close their petals at night—such delicate and beautiful flowers. However, it’s morning now, and they tilt toward the morning sun, slowly beginning to open up to take in all the warmth and sunlight they can. By midday, the petals are wide open, the tulips are in full bloom, and their beauty is resplendent.

I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you closed in the dark, your petals shut to shelter you from the cold. I’ve seen you slowly, almost imperceptibly, tilt toward the sun and begin to take in the life-giving light. I’ve seen you close again as newness comes upon you, but it was too late. The light was in you already, and you no longer feared the storm, even though fear told you to take shelter. You’ve opened and bloomed before my eyes, and I’ve seen the resplendent glory of your heart and soul. I’ve been privileged that you’ve shared your colors with me.

The spark in you has awoken my muse.