Muse

Last winter. (Naramata, BC)

This poem is in my poetry therapy textbook, in a section about muses...

Encounter
By Barbara Gellert

Just down from the mountain, she has visions.
Just out of the forest, she has dreams.
Just off of the desert, she has omens.
Just into the harbor, she has songs.
Hungry, dirty, tired, unsteady on her feet
she comes to tell.
She spies my would nestled in my listening ear
and fills it.
"With this gift," she smiles, "you'll never
be the same."