The water flowed over the nearby weir with a soft high pitched gurgling. Far downstream on the island, flocks of wild ducks were clamoring; at that distance their quaking and screaming also had a soft, monotonous sound and merged with the flowing of the water over the weir to produce that magical murmur of eternity into which one can sink, lulled and blanketed as by the sound of rain on a summer night or by softly falling snow. I stood and looked, stood and listened, and for the first time that day I had a brief taste of the sweet eternity in which one knows nothing of time.
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