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.
The Lake Isle of Innisfree, by William Butler Yeats
W. B. Yeats’ “The Lake Isle of Innisfree” is a great illustration of how I feel pretty much all of the time. I was born and raised in a small village in upstate New York so, although I don’t have a nearby private lake to conveniently occupy, I’m used to my cherished and quiet alone time. Burlington isn’t too big to frighten away my meek personality, and Dublin—though the largest city I’ve ever lived in—thankfully hasn’t proven to be too difficult of an adjustment.
Of course, the glamour of the big new city doesn’t last as long on a book nook geek like myself as it might on others and, despite how well my roommates and I are getting along, I’ve noticed a definite growing itch for some time to myself. That isn’t to say I’m already bored with Dublin. Far from it! I absolutely adore living in the city with my friends, finally out (almost) on my own in a part of the world I’ve dreamt of visiting for the better part of the last ten years. I’ve been saving for this opportunity for three years—even before I was accepted to Champlain College and chose it at the last minute over the Savannah College of Art and Design.
Still, I do find myself missing home. I’ve already caught myself a few times wishing I could be home for spring. Spring is, hands down, my favorite season. Yes, it can be muddy, but it’s miles better than the bitterly cold autumn days everyone who loves fall conveniently leaves out of their reasons it’s “better than spring.”
Anyway, spring at home is great. My family has a surprisingly large and wonderful garden in both the front and back yards that blossoms each year. But alongside the house, away from the gardens, is where my favorite of our flowers bloom. They’re crocuses, and the purple and yellow flowers bud at the earliest hints of springtime for maybe a week or two before they’re gone. Even if I make it home in time to see them this May, I have plane tickets to South Carolina to visit my dad within the week.
With both springtime and home on my mind (as well as my increasing need to exercise—darn you, Lidl, and your inexpensive chocolate delicacies), I’ve been thinking a lot about the bike path that runs between Ballston Spa, where I live, and the neighboring town of Round Lake. If I had to pick one place to be my quiet oasis, that path would be it.
I’ve been riding my bike there since it opened a few years ago and it’s wonderful. Smooth blacktop, mostly secluded behind lines of trees that block the worst of the midday sun. Even during the weekend in the dead of summer the path doesn’t get overcrowded. It’s always quiet and the people who pass are almost always friendly. You can see why it’s my favorite spot.
I hit the path early in the morning during the summer to avoid the worst of the humidity, so almost no one else will be using it. It’s one of the best reprieves from constant stress I’ve found. Pop my earbuds in and I’m golden. Just riding at my own pace, enjoying my music and my thoughts and that light summer breeze I live for.
Of course, the glamour of the big new city doesn’t last as long on a book nook geek like myself as it might on others and, despite how well my roommates and I are getting along, I’ve noticed a definite growing itch for some time to myself. That isn’t to say I’m already bored with Dublin. Far from it! I absolutely adore living in the city with my friends, finally out (almost) on my own in a part of the world I’ve dreamt of visiting for the better part of the last ten years. I’ve been saving for this opportunity for three years—even before I was accepted to Champlain College and chose it at the last minute over the Savannah College of Art and Design.
Still, I do find myself missing home. I’ve already caught myself a few times wishing I could be home for spring. Spring is, hands down, my favorite season. Yes, it can be muddy, but it’s miles better than the bitterly cold autumn days everyone who loves fall conveniently leaves out of their reasons it’s “better than spring.”
Anyway, spring at home is great. My family has a surprisingly large and wonderful garden in both the front and back yards that blossoms each year. But alongside the house, away from the gardens, is where my favorite of our flowers bloom. They’re crocuses, and the purple and yellow flowers bud at the earliest hints of springtime for maybe a week or two before they’re gone. Even if I make it home in time to see them this May, I have plane tickets to South Carolina to visit my dad within the week.
With both springtime and home on my mind (as well as my increasing need to exercise—darn you, Lidl, and your inexpensive chocolate delicacies), I’ve been thinking a lot about the bike path that runs between Ballston Spa, where I live, and the neighboring town of Round Lake. If I had to pick one place to be my quiet oasis, that path would be it.
I’ve been riding my bike there since it opened a few years ago and it’s wonderful. Smooth blacktop, mostly secluded behind lines of trees that block the worst of the midday sun. Even during the weekend in the dead of summer the path doesn’t get overcrowded. It’s always quiet and the people who pass are almost always friendly. You can see why it’s my favorite spot.
I hit the path early in the morning during the summer to avoid the worst of the humidity, so almost no one else will be using it. It’s one of the best reprieves from constant stress I’ve found. Pop my earbuds in and I’m golden. Just riding at my own pace, enjoying my music and my thoughts and that light summer breeze I live for.
© 2017 Elise Price