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At Sea
Aug 17, 1940
What matters but place?
Place is the dark mass falling at the bay entrance; the brown faces of mountains bared by the fog. The red cliff struggling and the black cliff resigned to the North. 
There are yellow mountains above Stinson Beach and I saw them flowing into the sea. I saw the mist shrouding the horizon and soften the wave line but the hills were [[strike through]] so [[/strike through]] great and [[strike through]] ? [[/strike through]] the mist lost itself on the granite
At Land's End Place becomes the shore erogs [[erodes]]lashed by water. The kelp lies brown upon a granite beach and the gulls create white for the black abyss. There were sea meadows and wind streaks up the plain. Grey earth crumbles and wild flowers are of the dust and the wind.
The great beach of San Francisco is a new world and I saw there the drama of far grey Place. The horizon becomes the flight of the gull the wave turns slowly without joy and the sky is not seen.