Hope

“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.”
― Emily Dickinson

Sometimes it seems silly to hope for things. What good does it do, after all, save put a small, secret smile in the corners of your mouth? I'm a natural-born cynic, but still...hope remains, unfurling in tender shoots like new fern leaves in the shade. And in the face of hope, bleeding fingers feel worth the pain.