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. – Emily Dickinson
You might recall that I was just expressing gratitude for the lovely weather.
Today, it SNOWED. I don’t think there are the right kinds of words to convey just how freaking tired I am of this winter. It has been brutal. Not only the weather, but this season of life for myself and many in my community. It’s been a hard, hard, long winter. I am ready for spring and light and hope and temperatures above 40 degrees.
Today, however, that was not to be.
I bundled the girls up and let them run wild outside while my heavy-heart ran wild on the inside.
But then Sera came inside, grabbed the camera, ran back out and shot this:
Itty bitty bird tracks in the snow.
A Robin perhaps.
A sign that the air is changing.
That hope is relentless.
That winter is true, but spring is on its way.
And a pair of nearly 10-year old feet–taking the lead, following hope.
Chirpy and alive and full of gratitude amid the winter’s snow.