A Thing Called Hope

feathdwnThanks to the Internet, holiday travels took us off the beaten path, discovering yesterday a small organic farm on the outskirts of Phoenix: The Farm At South Mountain.

There, expecting the usual scented soap and candles, I bumped into a treasure: a pile of vintage “postcards,” each with a saying capable of capturing someone’s heart.

I learned long ago that where quotations are concerned, the significance lies not so much in the words themselves but in which particular ones tug at the heart.

My personal tug came from Emily Dickinson, who was moved to write the following few lines more than a century ago:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune – without the words,
And never stops at all.

I don’t know what prompted Emily to write these words, or what pulled me to read them over and over. But I pass them on to anyone who can use a bit of hope to propel you through the end of one year and into the beginning of the next.

Like hope, they are timeless.

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