Зима тревоги нашей

           Thebesthecandoistosupposethattheyarelikehimself.Now,sittinginthePlace,outofthewind,seeingundertheguardianlightsthetidecreepin,blackfromthedarksky,IwonderedwhetherallmenhaveaPlace,orneedaPlace,orwantoneandhavenone.SometimesI’veseenalookineyes,afrenziedanimallookasofneedforaquiet,secretplacewheresoul-shiverscanabate,whereamanisoneandcantakestockofit.OfcourseIknowofthetheoriesofbacktothewombandthedeath-wish,andthesemaybetrueofsomemen,butIdon’tthinktheyaretrueofme,exceptaseasywaysofsayingsomethingthatisn’teasy.IcallwhateverhappensinthePlace"takingstock."Someothersmightcallitprayer,andmaybeitwouldbethesamething.Idon’tbelieveit’sthought.IfIwantedtomakeapictureofitformyself,itwouldbeawetsheetturningandflappinginalovelywindanddryingandsweeteningthewhite.Whathappensisrightforme,whetherornotitisgood.

           Therewereplentyofmatterstoconsiderandtheywerejumpingandwavingtheirhandsforattentionlikekidsinschool.ThenIheardtheslowputteringofaboatengine,aonelunger,afishingcraft.HermastheadlightmovedsouthbeyondtheWhitsunrocks.Ihadtoputeverythingasideuntilsheturnedherredandgreenlightssafeinthechannel,alocalboattohavefoundtheentrancesoeasily.Shedroppedanchorintheshallowsandtwomencameashoreinherskiff.Littlewaveletsbrushedthebeachandthedisturbedgullstooktimetosettlebackonthemooringfloats.