Seren chooses the oddest times to interfere. I’m driving alone, windows down, the wind caressing my face, playing havoc with my ponytail. Not a cloud to be seen, sun warming my left arm. Summer in spring. Classic rock blares on the radio. My shoes are in the passenger footwell, my toes bare on the gas and the clutch. I have no idea why; I think better barefoot. Perhaps, there is a snapshot in this.
Seren decides to be contrary. Despite the glorious summery day unfolding beyond my windscreen, she insists that there is an image involving fresh snow, a pine forest, a remote cabin, and a beautiful girl reading erotica in front of a roaring hearth, sipping at her Riesling. I assure you, offending a Muse is a terrible idea, so I will be posting the resulting snapshot in a day or two.
Sometimes, it is completely futile trying to comprehend or control a Muse. Even Dragons must simply go with the flow.