Wednesday, August 15, 2018
Little Feathers: A Bright Little Feather
Little Feathers: A Bright Little Feather: "Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings the song without the words And never stops-at all-" I lov...
A Bright Little Feather
"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the song without the words
And never stops-at all-"
I love this poem by Emily Dickinson. I remember my mom reading it to me when I was just a little girl. The image of a bird singing "a million songs without any words", as Patti Griffin says, is one that I can see in my mind's eye. The face on the notion of hope. Most birdsong is heard without ever seeing the singer. But when the singer perches in my soul and sings those songs without any words, I feel the solace coming straight from the creator.
There are so many things to worry about. Not just the ones "out there" in the big world, but worries for people I love. For friends and family facing illness and grief. For people whose jobs or children or spouse or parents are in trouble. For friends of friends whose losses or sudden challenges send me to my knees. But then the thing happens. Not immediately, because I can worry with the best of them. But then the gift is given. The songs.
Sometimes hope drifts into my awareness like that little feather in Forrest Gump. Just softly rising into the sky, swirling and lifting. Sometimes it's the birds that begin to sing just before the sun comes over the mountain when I'm here at the cabin. The forest behind us is filled with the little gift givers, and they are the sweetest alarm clock. A new day starts with their song.
Last night, hope came from another gift. When I lay awake worrying about everything and everyone, Bob reminded me that there was something else to focus on. All that we have to be grateful for. The beautiful people we were given to love. And that song, that one without any words, the one that perched in my soul and called itself hope, that song lulled me to sleep.
The bright little feather is the one that makes the dawn look beautiful. The one that makes the day seem possible. Emily's hope sang without any feathers. But mine is lined with the downy beauty of the creature who gets to fly, who sings so beautifully from a throat created for music. Hope.
That perches in the soul
And sings the song without the words
And never stops-at all-"
I love this poem by Emily Dickinson. I remember my mom reading it to me when I was just a little girl. The image of a bird singing "a million songs without any words", as Patti Griffin says, is one that I can see in my mind's eye. The face on the notion of hope. Most birdsong is heard without ever seeing the singer. But when the singer perches in my soul and sings those songs without any words, I feel the solace coming straight from the creator.
There are so many things to worry about. Not just the ones "out there" in the big world, but worries for people I love. For friends and family facing illness and grief. For people whose jobs or children or spouse or parents are in trouble. For friends of friends whose losses or sudden challenges send me to my knees. But then the thing happens. Not immediately, because I can worry with the best of them. But then the gift is given. The songs.
Sometimes hope drifts into my awareness like that little feather in Forrest Gump. Just softly rising into the sky, swirling and lifting. Sometimes it's the birds that begin to sing just before the sun comes over the mountain when I'm here at the cabin. The forest behind us is filled with the little gift givers, and they are the sweetest alarm clock. A new day starts with their song.
Last night, hope came from another gift. When I lay awake worrying about everything and everyone, Bob reminded me that there was something else to focus on. All that we have to be grateful for. The beautiful people we were given to love. And that song, that one without any words, the one that perched in my soul and called itself hope, that song lulled me to sleep.
The bright little feather is the one that makes the dawn look beautiful. The one that makes the day seem possible. Emily's hope sang without any feathers. But mine is lined with the downy beauty of the creature who gets to fly, who sings so beautifully from a throat created for music. Hope.
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