Did this happen

The lake house is a dream because it is out of time, and alone, and far away, but mostly because it looks and looks and looks at the lake. The lake is ever further than the eye can see and disappears, changes, and always stays the same. I have to tell you this about the lake, even though it will break all my poetry and sound so obvious as to be daft.

The lake is full of water.

If someone went mad here and someone had to come take them away, the mad person would be mumbling "It's full of water. The lake is full of water" over and over.

But no one is going mad here, and no one will. Do you know why? Because the lake is full of water- too much ballast. It's so grounding, so leveling. 

Of all our days at the lake, this one, our last full one, is the dreamiest of them all. The lake is almost waveless, as waveless as it can get without freezing over. One can see the stones under water. The dense confections of clouds, strung out like distant mountains along the horizon, are reflected with an inaccurate mysteriousness in the quiet water. Sky and lake are the same color and for the first time in seven days, without the undulating roar of waves, we are surrounded by silence. Blankets of whispering mist lie across vast areas of the lake, but when you look closely at them they dissipate, and you see that what you thought were mists are merely areas of water so placid and full of light that they glow. 

When we arrived here a week ago the lake tossed and large waves excitingly pounded the rock shore. It was thrilling and it matched our restless and wild spirits. Each day the lake quieted a little, and so did we. Now we are all still and deep. There is no longer any meaningful distinction between the real and the illusory. The lake is full of water and so, after all, are we.

I am so calm that I am even willing, as we must, to leave tomorrow morning. But that doesn't mean I want to, or that I think it is a good idea.