Tread Lightly

This morning I experienced an awakening. If I hadn't, I'd still be asleep, wouldn't I. During this morning's awakening my muse blew me into a story about a spoiled young lady who thought of herself as a princess, though she had hardly more than a teaspoon of blue blood to her whole body. As I awakened further, however, my mind became too heavy for even the mightiest muse to blow the story anywhere, so it skidded to a stop. Well I thought and I thought, and I thought some more. But only the heaviest profundities came to mind. I wondered, Am I hopelessly bound to wakefulness? because the more awake I was, the heavier my mind became. At last I decided my bed was too warm and comfortable to abandon at that moment, so I pulled my covers halfway over my head--only halfway because I wanted air more than perfect repose--and closed my eyes. Then, what do you know? My muse, which had been blowing steadily all the time, began moving my story along. And now that my keyboard lies at my fingertips, the spoiled young lady's adventures gradually evaporate from my memory like a pleasant dream. Goodbye, young lady. Of course, my morning-time story has a moral: The muse is a gentle zephyr, and the ship too heavily laden she will not blow far.