Tuesday, December 04, 2012

Still Packing, Packing, Packing. . .

I’m to the point where I am packing boxes of miscellaneous objects because there’s not enough of anything to fill a box.  I don’t do well with that.  I have never done well with those last loads of laundry with the odd items and the unaccompanied socks because they got left out of an earlier load. 
I am also finding out that packing an organized stash of yarn is nearly impossible!  No matter how carefully I pack, I find that after a box is taped shut, another skein or ball appears.  It’s like trying to herd baby chickens!

I also find that the mess--being surrounded with boxes, having items I need already packed, and dealing with different personalities and people about the move--is getting to me.  Yesterday, I listened to Christmas music on Pandora in an effort to calm down (while swilling down caffeine, of course).  Today, a poem that is not a Christmas poem popped into my head.  It is a reminder that I can go somewhere peaceful in my mind while a busy life is bustling all around me.

The Lake Isle Of Innisfree

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 honeybee,
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.


1 comment:

Deborah Hamilton said...

Wow, that's a wonderful poem.