Oh where, Oh where has my muse gone?

I think my Muse has run away from home. Back to Greece she’s gone to frolic in Pantheon, leaving me stranded. As writers they are an important part of our writing process. The frontal lobe stimulation brought on by sight, smell, and hearing things that trigger a memory, or in the writer’s case, a desire to write.
I’ve experienced none of this of late.
So I tried music. All kinds from rock to Gregorian chants. Nothing, she’s not there. No one is home. The lights are definitely off, leaving me alone in the dark.
So I tried reading. That helps. But more with sentence structure then anything. A little nudge there, but not enough to get me going.
I’ve watched a few movies. No take that back, a lot of movies. The most recent, 3:10 to Yuma. It was very good. Russell Crowe looked wonderful as usual. A flicker maybe. For a split second I thought my muse was hiding behind a tree. Nope it wasn’t her.
Writers have all kinds of muses, and ways to bring her out of hiding. Mine has really run far away, to disappear into the distance. Because I haven’t been able force her back. So instead, the large wide screen screams back at me, empty.
Well, this is how it’s been for me for a few weeks, as I curse my muse for her long unscheduled vacation.
Until, this weekend.
I made a trip home to Northern California, to the dry hot golden hills, to visit my family. As usual, we had our gathering at my sister’s ranch. After much food, horseback riding through her property, and more food, I settled into a comfortable lounge chair on her front lawn, under a hundred year old oak.
For long moments, I studied the twisted branches, where a squirrel played, and chattered as it gathered nuts for the coming winter. In the distance, a hawk cried, and nearby a chicken picked at the soft earth, with its chicks in tow.
It wasn’t long and I started to drift off to the dream world. During that time, my mind considered my writing, my story, and future stories. It was at peace, and was able to push aside the clutter of my life to allow my muse to return home. I felt her there, ready to write.
Welcome home from Greece. You were missed.
A soft breeze pulled at my hair, and I felt the velvety nose of Monty , my nephew’s horse, nuzzle my hair, as she reached over the fence to smell me. Reaching up I touched her face, and listened to her throaty grumble in my hair, and the idea for a future story sprung alive.
We each have our own little ways to get the juices flowing, and bring the muse into our writing world, so she can work her wonders. I hadn’t considered going home to a life I use to live to bring mine out. During her next vacation I might just try that again…It worked wonders, and yes of course Monty helped.
So what’s your tricks? What do you do the call your muse home to roost?