Today I find myself watching the owl carefully. Its head does not move, but its eyes follow me as I stand up and go to answer the door. I take it down from the mantel and take it with me.

“Why are you holding the owl, Grandma?”

“I’m not sure. It seemed to leap into my hand.”

“You are so silly, Grandma. It’s not real. Is it?”

Good question.

Once I had finished the first assignment and sent it on its way I could not get this owl out of my head. I should mention here that before selecting it for the assignment, I had paid just about no attention to it. If someone had asked me where on the mantel it sat, or even if it was still there, and I had been out of the room, I probably wouldn’t have been able to answer.

Since then, however, the owl . . . which seems to have become a symbol of my muse, or perhaps it is actually my muse . . . has appeared in my dreams, making suggestions for articles or titles of blog posts. Last night it dictated an entire article, with titles and subtitles. It was great, and I arose excited to get the words down on the page, but now I can’t remember what it said.

Is this trickery, jealously, or motivation? I desire the writing life, yet I keep putting up barriers to success. I join organizations that need working officers, or sign up to volunteer at an event. I subscribed to an exercise regimen that takes me out of the house every morning, my most creative and energetic part of the day.

Is the owl making this happen, or just making me aware that it is happening?