Flying into home

home - 1

06.28.18

I am always awake to hear the first flight go over our lake early in the morning, and often see this afternoon United plane go in and out of the clouds, on its descent into the airport.  When I fly, I make my seat selection based on being able to look down on the east shore of Flathead Lake, and while I can’t actually see my house, I can find Wood’s Bay, and approximate where it sits along the shoreline.  Coming back from anywhere, it’s always soothing, comforting, to look down and recognize my tiny spot in the Universe.  Twenty-two years ago, when we first moved to the Valley and lived in town, I would hear the first flight out in the dark mornings of that first winter, and be tearful that I was not on it.  Now, I am coming Home, to where I belong.

It’s been windy back here at home with clear, blue skies.  Our neighbor texted a photo that she took at 4:30 a.m. yesterday, of the full Strawberry Moon, setting over the western hills, behind our sailboat.   Returning from a dinner party last night in town, the bright yellow canola fields glowed, as the big golden moon rose over the eastern mountains.  We friends had talked at length of the despair we all felt over the Supreme Court news of the day.  Another friend, this morning, told me she’d been listening to Greg Brown sing “I want my country back.”  There is a darkening cloud of anxiety hovering over these blue sky days–with the 4th of July, just around the corner.  Oh it is hard to hold it all…the red-white-and-blue parade and the fireworks of celebration.

Yet, how grateful I am to be Home.  “I shall have peace there…”

The Lake Isle of Innisfree
By  William Butler Yeats
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.

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