I slept, and that evening the sky had cleared and all was calm. At dusk Dan Wota and I walked to the cliff. We found a large boulder and sat looking across the bay, out to sea, speechless. The evening was gentle, and everything so fresh and at peace. The air was rich with the smell of the ocean and the sky alive with the cool shades of dusk. It was all so clear. Finally we started back down the beach. I could feel the small stones beneath my feet, worn round and smooth by the waves. I picked one up; it had a slight dimple on one side. It seemed such a perfect expression of the way I felt, of everything. I thought to take it with me, held it tightly in my hand, and started up the hill. But it really bothered me. I knew I just couldn't keep it. It was wrong. Halfway up the cliff I threw the rock way out, watched it arc through the dusk, and heard it clatter on the beach below, where it belonged. I felt good.