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What Your Muse Is Trying to Tell You
Go outside. That’s where will you see it,
the yellow caterpillar, yellower than any caterpillar you’ve ever seen before.
Look, there. Two tiny starfruit have fallen, glossing the dirt
with a crown of skin and seed.
Notice now it’s starting to rain, a nice hot rain that cools your hair.
Mist ballets over the mountains of Guanacaste.
You to take a picture, but how can you capture
the feel of this wet energy forming around you?
Feel how it holds you now, this air, certain
as the fabric of a chrysalis,
as you gather each image into memory,
the blue trumpet vines, the fearful foxglove.
Collect each one with a click of your camera.
You have learned from the bees
how to suck delight out of every young moment,
and take it home to make honey.
The orange beauty of the Royal Ponciana Trees,
the smell of petrichor, or those big pods
of sugary sap fallen from the branches into the mud,
making everything smell like pleasure,
making even death seem a little more like love.
The last line is so Lovely 🌹