August 8, 1970

I am here. I am home. There is no place of which I know where I would rather be. We have a different cabin, #9, this time built closer to and higher above the rock sphere so the water sounds are more present inside than they are in #10, but it's situated on a small bay which makes for a difference I became aware of just now. We are - I am - sitting on our usual rock out from #10 (the boys, Doug & Eric, are playing "castle & knights" over aways) and the green water is raising itself high in sucessive swells crumbling on pink granite in white ruffles & I realized I was hungry for just that. In the small cove by #9, the water doesn't rise, doesn't swell, doesn't break & I was deprived - all day I felt myself unable to absorb - it was as tho I was non-porous where I was, was making no impression - the sights & sounds were not breaking through - partly, too, it was too warm, too still - I was unfeeling, asleep, immune - and just now I opened, I woke, I absorb, I love - it is all still here - I have not lost it.