Hope is the thing with feathers, as Emily Dickinson said. It perches on our soul. It guides us through the storm. It keeps us warm. She also says it doesn’t ask anything of us. But that’s not quite right. Hope asks for courage and then some. We carry the fire, at risk of being burned. We are of good cheer, despite the horror and the despair. We keep our hearts open, after we’ve had it broken. We proceed, ignoring the horrendous odds.
