Hope is the thing . . .

Emily Dickinson’s “Hope is the thing with feathers” has always resonated with me. I made my students memorize it because I told them they might need it on sad days. Those days come and go for all.

Why are some people hopeful about the future in these troubled political times so confident the truth will out and America will be free of anti-Democracy forces? Perhaps hope is genetic, but everyone has the power within to plug into hope.

Here’s my teacher challenge to you: memorize this poem or copy it on your phone —and when you feel low, go outdoors or open your window. Listen. If you’re lucky you’ll hear a bird singing all my itself on some limb. Just for you.

We have sparrows in particular who sing happily in the morning. Coffee music for my soul. Sparrows are like me, not flashy or argumentative like blue jays, but always singing, enjoying the moment. We all need to start saving images, music, books to keep the hope alive this year.

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Hope is the thing with feathers (254)

By Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

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 1830-1886

Photo by Andy Holmes on Unsplash