Wings

“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




Mrs. Bluebird on the wing. These blue jewels return day after day, brightening the sky and our hearts.


For the Record,
This day came in sunny with our leaf cleanup men and their noisy machines arriving early. T was up, but I was roused earlier than my pandemic arising time. The yard looks great and now I can set the snow stakes for the plowmen on the edges of the driveway before the ground freezes.


All hands VERY WARY!