I have a sick child at home today.
On her way from her hot tea in the dining room
through the kitchen back to her spot on the couch,
she observed me at the keyboard,
and asked, “Are you musing?”
I smiled and said, “Yes”—
thinking to myself—with the music on,
between cleaning the kitchen and feeding you—and the dog,
and getting the recycling ready
and the garbage out,
and giving the dog a brushing and a game of fetch (keep away),
and switching the laundry,
stripping the beds, washing the sheets, making the beds—
and vegetable soup and cornbread for tonight’s dinner,
yes, I’m musing.
And I love that you know that—
even if you did pronounce it more like “mussing,”
and I’m smiling at that.
It does seem I muse better in the muss of things!