A sunny April day in late January.
A warming strong wind the past days
erased the remaining snow, dried the ground.
I took tea outside and read new poems.
Buds watching me chuckled over my joy.
It is fine that Emily Dickinson believed
that hope is the thing with feathers.
I choose the broken branches that fell
during the winter ice storm in January
and have buds opening this April afternoon.
“Hope is the thing with feathers” by Emily Dickinson