I love writing but the muse has gone for a long vacation. I sat on my doorstep everyday and waited for her shadow, or the rustle of her approach, until even the moon said he couldn't hear anything.

I finally had the good sense to go out there and look for her, and I forayed into a few hills, rummaged under rocks and trees, regularly scanned the nighttime skies but still I could not hear her symphonies.

I have not lost hope. I will keep waiting, and looking. I get the feeling that one day, I may not need to look, that I might learn to call to her and conjure her if I willed it strongly enough.