"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."
From Yeats, "The Lake Isle of Innisfree." Not that anyone is going to plant nine bean rows or make a small cabin of clay and wattles on Mackinac Island.
Taken in St. Ignace.
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