Into my head this morning popped the expression "the wind has quartered,"
yet outside in the yard there is no wind.
Yesterday, on the plane,
I read correspondence between Bonnard and Matisse in 1941,
the former favoring humble surroundings, Le Cannet,
the latter proposing Bonnard should move to the luxury hotels of Cannes.
Perhaps "quarters" and "accommodation" were meant?
I think not.
The wind seems metaphoric,
gusting force two to three,
as in "The wind stands fair for Jamaica."
After a good couple of days in UCSD's library,
looking into the history of memory,
remembering and even meeting the former assistant professor of the
history of sheep,
now chair,
this morning I feel ready to set sail on this computer,
not stowing these words,
sowing them,
a form of morning stretch.
No longer in irons,
my neurons fire.
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
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