There are nine. Some allude Sappho was the tenth. Each comes to the poet or the artist not at request, nor wooed as some might chance, but rather through happenstance; as one might encounter a meadow on a walk, or a lark in the elm. We can seize the opportunity to entertain the muse, the goddess, the ideal. And like the ideals (truth, beauty, love and such) our perceptions and descriptions of them are the stuff of poets and artists–metaphor and allegory. These muses are also insouciant, more so than familiar spirits such as the cat.

So goes the game with the fleeting muse. “I weep for she laughs, alas not by me.” I invite Calliope to visit your pages. Fare thee well.

pd