I am fascinated by absolutely everything I see in the little nest outside my window. I am amazed, for example, by the fast growth of feathers on the chicks. The rudimentary feathers no more than hairs when the chicks were born will be fully developed feathers when the young doves fly away by the first of next month. 
Looking at the dove chicks, how could I not think of Emily Dickinson's poem. HOPE IS A THING WITH FEATHERS
by Emily DickInson
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 chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
2 comments:
Emily Dickinson, what a wonderful American poet. I think of her these days when I know that my best pals sadnessprivilege from undergraduate days will soon succumb, after a long period of years from cancer. Bill had one of the finest bass-baritone voices that I've had the privilege of hearing and is/was a wonderful guy and friend. Dickinson wrote, in one of her poems, of the sadness having known so many brilliant, talented,funny and sensitive people, but when they die and you just can't recover from their loss. Jerral, I'm sure you know the poem I'm referring to, and it breaks my heart whenever I think of it.
Jim
Jim,
It may be this poem... I like it, too.
Jerral
BECAUSE I COULD NOT STOP FOR DEATH
by Emily Dickinson
Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.
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