She explained juggling was simple. He laughed, watching her keep five balls in the air. They fell like a fountain, cascading perfectly into her hand. Cascading, like her hair, her laughter. He loved his muse.
Inhaling her presence of wonder, her every word kept him in rap attention. A juggler, only catches one ball at a time, and throws one ball at time she said. You can catch one ball at a time. You can throw one ball at a time.
She threw him one ball, startled, he dropped it. A giggle escaped her lips. Still maintaining the balls in the air she knelt and picked it up.
Now you are ready? Try again, and she tossed the ball he caught it. They smiled. Next time use one hand, she chided him. She threw him another ball, but his hands were full, he dropped the first one and missed the second one.
Silly, juggling is throwing the balls up, not down. Again she picked up both balls. All the while juggling. He knew not to ask where all the balls were coming from. Muse’s were magic, and one did not ask such questions, lest the Muse leave.
He dropped the balls again. She took a deep breath, a wry smile crossing her face. She stopped juggling and the balls disappeared. One ball in her hand she tossed it to him. He caught it and tossed it back.
She didn’t throw it back. Instead, her eyes, the pools of his inspiration looked at him. Now you play catch, with yourself. First with two hands, then with one. Soon it will be routine and you will write regularly.
Write? I thought we were talking about juggling?
My silly human, what ever gave you that idea, this is a blog about writing.