Feathered Hope.

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 herd;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've herd it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
it asked a crumb of me.
       (Emily Dickinson)

You must forgive me, I seem to have

feathers stuck in my Camera.

God's Gifts, are better than

mans best dreams.

(unknown)

I must concentrate my gaze closer to the ground.