Hope

The news is harsh these days.   Whatever your politics, perspectives, positions, it’s all pretty rugged out there.

Many of us weary of the news but staying current feels necessary, if not required.  It’s a bit like homework assignments. If you get behind the eight ball, you may never catch up. 

I do two morning crossword puzzles before I even approach the news.  They soothe both my brain and my soul and prepare me for what’s to come.

Just recently, the 66 Across clue in the NYT puzzle was: “Thing with feathers that perches in the soul, per Emily Dickinson.”  The answer was easy but I wanted, and very much needed, to re-read and re-experience the full poem. I hoped it would soothe my brain and my soul. It did the job so I’m including the poem below, in all its beauty, power and brevity. Use as needed.

“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.