Bright Spots and Pass Alongs
When the world reveals too much darkness I tend to retreat. I know I can’t just hide and pretend it will all go away, yet I don’t want to dwell on tragedies and troubling events. So when the world is at its darkest I look up and out and around to find the bright spots.
“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
- In Memory of Those Budding Children who faded today… (tom8pie.wordpress.com)
- Emily Dickinson 12.10.12 Thought of the Day (ritalovestowrite.com)