“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.” – Emily Dickinson
Way back in the time of the dinosaurs, I learned this poem. Once in a while it pops back into my head, unbidden, but clear as a bird song in the early morning air. It’s something I’ve held on to lately, hope, not the poem. Hope for what? I’m not sure. Hoping for good things to really happen. Hoping for the impossible? Hoping I don’t fall short.
Maybe I shouldn’t over-analyze it. Maybe I should simply enjoy the way the words trip over my tongue and roll out. Maybe I should just let it work its magic on my subconscious.
Speaking of birds…
Isn’t this a fun picture?
The Most and the Least
I like the thought of living under hope’s roof. I can visualize myself not simply being hopeful but living a life under and protected by hope. Something has to counteract all the negatives, right?
“The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof.” – Barbara Kingsolver, from Animal Dream
One more word image of a bird
“Hold fast to dreams,
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird,
That cannot fly.” – Langston Hughes
Some days, for some of us, hope is elusive. But there are always dreams, aren’t there? That’s something.
Looking for a good day ahead where I can. It’s out there, just gotta keep my eyes open.