"The union of the mathematician with the poet, fervor with measure, passion with correctness, this surely is the ideal."
William James
You are nothing like how I imagined my Muse. I thought I'd squashed her flat when I picked this place up off the dry cracked prairie and set it down here. I thought I saw the pointed toes of her silver slippers sticking out from under the planks. Instead I find you standing on the front porch looking very much like an accountant in a crisp blue shirt and polished shoes.
You have followed me here and I'm glad. The place was lonely without you. I didn't realise what was missing until you showed up. I'm even more glad that you are not a cranky witch with a broomstick to poke me in the ribs with. Measure and correctness is much more my thing. Seven words is all it takes, right?
