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Sept 15 '62 Day after day of my perfect weather. A setting sun series. And tonight: a walk by moonlight, up Horne's Hill, then along road to Lobster Cove. From a knoll over the cove: this land & this night are all I wanted so much to see & to have in those early years when I was bounded by the Pacific. Hills of grass that plunge into the sea. They were everywhere, and the sea came up. The sea that was itself a darkness. All all the rocks All their different shapes Edged by grasses, or water, absorbing moonlight slowly