i hope . . .

Hope by Emily Dickenson

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 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.


I'm getting ready to go on a trip to louisianna to work with katrina relief efforts. . .from what i understand, things down there are terrible beyond my imagination. the other day i watched oprah's special on St. Bernard's Parish, which is where we will be serving, and it seemed


hopeless.

so i guess that's what has brought hope to mind this morning. what is it? how does one pass it on to the hopeless? how do these amazing folks in new orleans still have some left?

i am naively "hoping" that me and 19 others, teens and adults, can bring some of this rare commodity down to those in great need.

if hope is a thing with feathers--tell me emily, how do i catch it and bring it to sing for others?