“Hope” by Emily Dickinson
…
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
That 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 that 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.
… ….
… …
Sean Crawford
As snow falls very lightly
As happened yesterday
On this day that, in other years, averages plus fifteen celsius (centigrade)
Two days after we had wind gusts to 90 kilometres per hour
Living in Roger Zelazny’s Damnation Alley
Very amusing
April 2026
Blog note: No essay today,
But instead of using a Friday Free Fall (FF) piece as a place holder,
As I did for my last two posts,
I am using a poem that is better than any FF I could write,
Because FF may disappoint readers hoping for an essay.
Essay note: I have three essays “in the hopper,” including my next one explaining FF,
but I want to run them by my writers support group before posting.
