I've been looking through my photos. Pictures of places near and far and lots of great memories. Among them, I found this one which I didn't recognize. I think Son of, must have taken it. When I saw it the words of the Emily Dickenson poem popped into my mind.Hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
and sings the song
without the words
and never stops at all.
1 comment:
I love Dickinson, and go through periods where I swear I'll read her whole oeuvre. Then, after about three of her sideways poems, I give up, worried that any more will make me unable to think straight.
Post a Comment