Wednesday, October 1, 2014


Sometimes bad news comes when it seems most out of place like a rain shower on a clear, sunny day.  It doesn't quite belong.  It feels like it must be a mistake.  I got news, all in one day, that a family member is fighting a degenerative, possibly debilitating illness and two of my good friends are battling life threatening illnesses.  I had a different post planned about the dichotomy between two places that I have lived in my life, but I didn't feel inspired to write about that topic this week.  Instead, I am posting this poem by Emily Dickinson, one of my favorite poets:

“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.
I think it says everything that I am not sure how to say.

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