this shouldn’t be a secret

Lena’s ears stand tall and erect. She moves with the graceful ease of an antelope. Her manners are impeccable. The pup is a rescued Belgian Malnois whose humans have taught her well.

Odd couple that they are, Lena and Henrietta are friends. When I saw an unknown twolegs walking the regal shepherd I called, “Is that Lena?”

Despite rich conversation and thousands of shared steps, we’ve yet to exchange names. In my mind she’s simply Lena’s grandma — a pet grandma who doesn’t really enjoy pets, but loves her children so much that she shuttles around the Midwest offering care while her children travel.

Yesterday I learned that quilting is Lena’s grandma’s little creative outlet. I welcomed the opportunity to talk about creativity because… I see it as a disguised superpower.

“For much of my life I thought my sister was the creative one,” I told my fellow walker. “Then I started writing and learned that we create our lives with every choice we make… who we hang out with, what we watch on television, what we read, what we eat and drink… all of it shaping and creating our lives and the lives of those we touch.”

Lena and her grandma walked Henny and I to the stop sign and we parted ways.

Until we meet again…

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“Is Typist mad at us?” Calliope whispered.

“I don’t think so,” Thalia whispered back.

Urania shrugged. “She needs us to edit Meandering Muses. She’ll call us back in no time. She can only avoid us for so long… we’re the butter to her bread, the song to her voice, the choice she’s made.”