This is a topic that may surface in my blog now and then. So I thought I would start off with one of my favorite poems, by Emily Dickerson.
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.
The next time you find a feather, see it as a sign of hope.
a hui hou…