What Is the Mood of the Day

A pink whistle, a shrill siren, a spilled bottle of ink, Vibrant India, the blue stuff, silver spilled in the sink, I never know what kinds of amazing things will come through. What will my assertive muse in charge of me make me do? Will it be faeries today? Or cinnamon rolls? A garden missive? A bumble bee rose clocker-shocker, will it be something priss-ive? I have to sit at my keyboard, and punch some keys, trying not to shout. My take-charge muse is the only one of us who knows what is going to come out. Are we silly? Mad? Mean? What is the Caren-Trixie mood of the day? Do we need glitter and glue? Are we going to dance? Are we going to play? Will it be poetry, or a drawing, will I paint a mural or perhaps a cartoon? Will we be traveling to Egypt or Zimbabwe or to the Baboon’s famed moon? I am lying here, wondering, in my teeny tiny not-so-smart-yet head. I guess the first step might be to roll out of bed.