To Muse:

Intransitive verb. 1: to become absorbed in thought, especially to think about something carefully and thoroughly. Perhaps musing about what might have been. 2 Archaic: to wonder, marvel.

Dandelions?, by JP Luce

07/17/2022

I watched some guy on TikTok show photos of all the nebulas and galaxies that were recently published. He mused how, in comparison, humanity was nothing, that we were spit, less than a grain of sand, but still so self-important.

His musings got me to wondering, why are we so caught up in our self-importance, often crushing others to make money or, even for no reason. I then wondered if our Creator would ever just blow us away like dandelions and move on to the next galaxy that They’ve created. Poof, be gone.

I wondered whether we were the prototype, and whether They improved the model as They went along, that maybe other galaxies, other planets have beings that are a billion times better than we are, and maybe have more capacity than us to love, have compassion, empathy.

I wondered whether our Creator would be angry that I called humanity prototypes. But They know what we are, and They know what we’ve done, so maybe not. Creator basically gave us heaven on earth, and we destroyed it. Gave us everything we needed: sun, moon, water, food… and we ruined it.

Then there are those with power and those without power, and I wondered why we weren’t all equal from the beginning. Maybe we were supposed to be, but then greed created the split between the have and the have nots, and racism took care of the rest.

Then my brain hurt so I stopped musing…

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Just a Peek, by B.E. Payne

07/16/2022

Maybe it was the quiet, calm, air around them that first drew me in. Perhaps then I noticed that even seated it was clear they were tall; regally so. Slim and fit. Or, it could have been the matching, near glowing, silver-hued crowns of hair that pinched my fancy. But the enchantment lied elsewhere. The magic was that on this subway car with barely enough room to stand, their space was filled only with the other.

 The magic was in the tiny crinkles around her eyes that twinkled as she tilted her head while telling him who knows what. As the words caressed his ear, his gaze was straight ahead, not at her. But he was rapt. Nodding ever so slightly, his rhythm was perfect. A lusciously creeping smile moved across his face, letting me peek into their exquisite familiarity. They sat into each other. Slowly, his finger traced tender, perfect circles on the front of her knee, where she let him rest his hand.

 When this hairs’ width of their journey was over, they rose, revealing their full measure. Only then it seemed like they were dancing to their own music as they moved through the doors.

 Love was never so plain.