Professor Digby and Ms. Sage—I’ve been searching everywhere for some understanding of what took hold of me on August 21st. That search led me to you. Please allow me a few minutes of your time.
As I do nearly every day, I woke early to watch the sun rise over the hills. Then, I walked through my garden, examining blossoms and greeting the parrots, macaws, and toucans that come to my patio each morning in exchange for a plate of fruit.
I clipped a perfect trumpet flower and brought it into my studio. I am a painter. Every day, for as long as I can remember, I have painted still lives. I love the details, the beauty, and the mysteries of nature.
However, when I began to paint that morning, it wasn’t a flower that appeared on my paper. It was a horse. In a hat. I had painted it, yes, but I have no idea why! When I tried again, another horse, with a different hat, appeared. Over and over again, this happened. Until, before me, spread across my drawing table, were many horses. Not one trumpet flower.
I don’t own horses nor do I have any particular interest in them. Ms. Sage, I have to ask, did one of the cards look like this?