Light as a feather

I wasn’t looking for hope, but I found it. I was thinking a couple weekends ago about a new adventure that I’ve found myself on. I was thinking about both rapid and calm waters. Of course, I was in my own head analyzing every action and inaction a million times over.

An AI image of a small bird sitting on a leafy branch overlooking misty mountains at sunrise.

And then I stumbled across Emily Dickinson’s poem, “Hope Is the Thing With Feathers.” I wouldn’t call myself a natural poetry lover. I have to work at analyzing and making sure that it says what I think it says. I had to read the poem two, three times. I couldn’t get over the power in Dickinson’s writing.

She defines hope as an enduring, resilient, and selfless force. A delicate, but tough bird that perches in the soul and through thick and thin, hell or high water, and through every other cliche you think of, sings a beautiful melody without fail. It requires nothing, but gives everything it has.

As I continue my adventure, it struck me as exactly the words I needed to hear.

An AI image of a small bird resting on a branch overlooking a misty sunrise.

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers

“Hope” is the thing with feathers —

That perches in the soul —

And sings the tune without the words —

And never stops — at all —

And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard —

And sore must be the storm —

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm —

I’ve heard it in the chillest land —

And on the strangest Sea —

Yet — never — in Extremity,

It asked a crumb — of me.

Is there a poem that moves you?