Friday, March 16, 2012

Hope and Spring

“Hope” is the thing with feathers
By Emily Dickinson

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.

Spring is inching out. A few intrepid flowers bursting forth, brazen, possibly foolhardy.
Sunshine and splashes of color help lift the spirits, as do little girls' gasps of wonder, "Mommy, the flowers! They came!"

Grudgingly, I feel hope and joy flutter in with spring. Barren winter giving way to renewal, blossoming.

Time to look past loss and embrace the new.

What brings you hope?

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