Digression On Number 1, 1948

I am ill today but I am not too ill. I am not ill at all. It is a perfect day, warm for winter, cold for fall. A fine day for seeing. I see ceramics, during lunch hour, by Mir6, and I see the sea by Leger; light, complicated Metzingers and a rude awakening by Brauner, a little table by Picasso, pink. I am tired today but I am not too tired. I am not tired at all. There is the Pollock, white, harm will not fall, his perfect hand and the many short voyages. They'll never fence the silver range. Stars are out and there is sea enough beneath the glistening earth to bear me toward the future which is not so dark. I see.