This month’s topic was a tough one for me, given the current world condition. These days, I feel as though I’m holding my breath whilst racing across eggshells. I’m almost afraid to hope. So I looked elsewhere for the words that I was unable to muster.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers – (314)
Emily Dickinson 1862
“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 the 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.
Closer to home, I’ve always loved this song. I’ve attached a link to a performance by The Rankin Family, one of my favourite Nova Scotia folk bands. This tune always brings a lump to my throat, and a feeling of hope.
Rise Again (We Rise Again)
Leon Dubinsky 1985
When the waves roll on over the waters
And the ocean cries.
We look to our sons and daughters
To explain our lives
As if a child could tell us why.
That as sure as the sunrise
As sure as the sea
As sure as the wind in the trees.
We rise again in the faces of our children.
We rise again in the voices of our song.
We rise again in the waves out on the ocean,
And then we rise again.
When the light goes dark with the forces of creation
Across a stormy sky.
We look to reincarnation to explain our lives.
As if a child could tell us why.
That as sure as the sunrise
As sure as the sea
As sure as the wind in the trees.
We rise again in the faces of our children.
We rise again in the voices of our song.
We rise again in the waves out on the ocean,
And then we rise again.
