I'm on a safari in Africa, and a friend is hunting with me, Gene, who grew up in India with Southern Baptist missionaries. He shoots a white cat high in an acacia or eucalyptus tree and it falls to ground and hobbles to a green compound and through a rotting board goes inside. I follow and see that it was Gandhi's home when he was in South Africa (c. 1890-1913). I go thru like the cat, but the cat has become my girlfriend in Japan when I was in the army, 1946-1948. She is beautiful in a kimono and has a red spot on her forehead like an Indian woman. I reach out to touch her and she's a pony who runs in a spiral--or gyre--and is rainbow-radiant in sunlight like velvet. She--the pony--comes to rest at my feet.