“Hope” is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson “Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - . . .
"Buy flowers – or if you are poor, steal one from someone’s garden; the world owes you that much at least: blossom – and put them at . . .
Blackbirds with their confident perching seem to have it all sussed. They are gorging on our black currants flying over and back across the garden as if they own the place. The speckled hen . . .
We had just arrived in Northern Brittany. Our first stop was to be a field on the edge of the Ile Callot. You get there by crossing a causeway at low tide. When the tide returns and the day . . .
We watch, in hope that they will re-appear each Spring. Wild Irish Hares have become scarce in some places but there are still a few around here. As long as . . .