The Lake

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.


-W.B. Yeats

I am at "my" lake
The loons are calling
The geese are cackling
Mallard ducks beat their wings gently on the still water
A bass splashed as it fed at the surface
I heard the rustle of a deer through the woods
I heard a dog bark, thank heavens it was not ours
I think

I am suddenly at peace with the racket that fills this place