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Nolokai, Lani and Kahoolawe lying so close together. 

The skies over kilaueu Crater--luminous gray in bands of clouds and [[[strikethrough]] gray [[/strikethrough]]] sky. The crater-floor: purple-gray and lifeless but for the sea. 

Puna us land where sea was. Lava flowed and made land. 

Hilo, Christmas eve, 1940

I was very happy. I was alone, known by no one. I walked the streets along the bay, and crossed a park to the water's edge. It was cold, windy, and rainy. What gladness; I sang to myself and knew for once how much I want to be alone. Great visions came to me, of worlds I could paint and write about and live in. 

Christmas Day

Rode to Laupahoehoe. The place is a lava spit that [[strikethrough]] fits [[/strikethrough]] fights its way into sea. huge black pinnacles of lava jut out into the sea, like angry monsters. The high sea broke over around them. The sea was deep grayish blue and the sky, all steel gray. The cliffs of the coast were wild with waterfalls and spray. Here, I thought, at last would be new worlds for me. But no: the crages bent like my lava rocks in my "Koko Crater." The sea was like my Red Coast or my Sprindrift at Kealia, and the sky like my gray skies. 

Laupahoehoe, then, was the living stuff of my dreams over the past two years. I felt humble before my work. And I felt strong [[strikethrough]] ad [[/strikethrough]] and powerful agina , and I wanted to live there. 

On the way [[strikethrough]] back [[/strikethrough]] over, there were many good places. Here, a red hill fronting the sea. Here a row of trees showing where land fell. Over many miles, the sheer drop of land, the