Viewing page 40 of 153

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

the farness of an island in the Atlantic, far, far from my home on Kauai. And the getting to it from New York is in itself a realization of the search. The grey miles from Port Clyde, the cold crossing, are as hauntingly thrilling as any dream of traveling I could have dreamt when I first committed myself to far places.

And today, a day of cold, of drizzle, of the sea fog blowing in, and the cold wind hurling the north onto the land, the utter desolation of time, and of grey air and grey light, the fog horn sounding over the island, the aloneness of living itself, these, and the sea, [[strikethrough]]knowledge of[[/strikethrough]] and the high cliffs on the other side of the island, and the presence of spruce trees denoting the North, make me realize, if only sporadically that I have found much of what I have searched for, here on Monhegan.