154 WITH EARTH AND SKY 
emphasis that she was phoebe. There was no 
getting away from that unless she married and 
changed her name. Then a lone crow flew low, 
almost touching the treetops of my morning 
lattice on his way to the open sands of the placid 
lake of great water. A heron flew over the lake 
near shore, taking her morning way to the sand 
dunes, where her nest was set among June 
grasses. Lake Beautiful lay calm as a picture and 
untroubled as a quiet heart. 
I could not resist the lure of the morning, but 
naked-footed, to disturb not the household, 
descended the stairs, took one oar, shook the 
yesterday’s sand from my to-day’s shoes, and 
hastened with blithe feet to the curve of the 
river where my convoy of rowboats are looking 
at their white shadows in the water and, demure 
as not seeing me, uttered no exclamations of 
surprise when I untied one of them from its 
spile, sunk neck deep in the water, stepped into 
the boat’s tilting, sagging and swaying hospitality, 
seated me coatless and hatless and collarless and 
plied my one oar as desiring to see the way I 
took, and thus I rode taking the morning, dewy, 
moving landscape to my heart where the mists 
lay like silver veil on the shore or drifted like 
visible perfume over the rising dunes or climbed 
over the banks of the stream and then spread 
wings and vanished in the forest. Such water 
lovers and lovers of rowboat have lost much joy 
who know not the delight of sitting with face 
