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.

Emily Dickinson

So, a dreich damp Autumn day today. Inspiration was running low.

Came back from town and saw this feather on the driveway.

I liked the way the vanes were magnified by the raindrops...