I have been going about the valley all morning day, anxious to learn what I could of this magnificent power. The ground is still in motion. It has never fairy settled since the first shock. Between each of the greater shocks a heavy rumbling is heard, not always dis- tinguishable from the explosive notes of the Upper Fall. These are the first spoken words that I have heard direct from the tender bosom of Mother Earth. Frogs cease their songs when a severe shock occurs. I noticed a pair of robins flying with a frightened cheep cheep from a shaken oak. Butterflies seem to know nothing about it. Vertical animals are mostly in sore consternation. Two or three have fled. A little girl of Hutchings cried terror stricken in the night, Grandma Grandma Pray to God to stop it. I met? two violets up by Indian Canon I asked them while I looked in their eyes, what they thought of the great quake storm. They replied It’s all Love . We have lost Eagle Rock but have gained another that is more beautiful, Distruction is always creation; storms of water cloud, Storms of azure wind, purple granite, are things of Beauty Love, working Beauty Love constantly higher yet higher – I did not purpose sending so much storm. I write mostly to repeat my invitation to Yosemite next summer. for this year Pacific letters fly Atlanticward like wounded birds, All are unsteady many fall dead in drifts.

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