Is the muse no longer amused? Is she sick of me? Is she coming back? These pathetic questions are all part of the ebb and flow. No one wants the ebb. This is sadly my creative process. The blank canvas that sits in the corner until the moment of inspiration. And then the flow that blows me away. How was I able to create this work of art? Why do I doubt the creative force that runs through the universe? When the energy shifts, I always think it’s over but it was just evolving into something new. I’m not at the mercy of the muse, I’m in awe of her generosity. I may suffer the dreaded ebb while I wait for the flow, but it is so worth it. I can’t wait to see what we might do next. I am only limited in what I think, not in what is truly possible.