Longing for Innisfree

Yesterday I deactivated my Facebook account.  I'm no Luddite, but I loathe Zuckerberg and his algorithms, and I'm happy to no longer be a part of that. After deactivating my account, I spent a happy day cleaning my house, including getting down on my hands and knees and washing the dining room floor and the stairs with warm water into which I'd added a generous amount of Murphy's Oil Soap, which always leaves a delicate, clean scent that I love. I made myself a nice lunch, and ran some errands. When I got home again, I curled up with both cats on the chaise in my bedroom and read several chapters of A Man Called Ove, a book which I'm thoroughly enjoying. And when I went to bed last night, I felt more calm and at peace than I have in months.

The Lake Isle of Innisfree, by W.B. 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.