And, Still, the Birds Sing...in feathered hope.

"A Perch of Birds" Watercolor by Hector Giacomelli, 1822-1904
(My husband gave me a print of this beautiful painting for my April 6 birthday.)

Little did I know how much the world would change since my last post on March 8, 2020. Sure, I knew there was a new virus let loose in the world and there were about 500 cases in the United States, but it still felt like it was "out there" somewhere. Today, April 8, there are over 400,000 cases and over 14,000 related deaths in our country, alone. The United States, which had appeared to be so impervious in the beginning, is now the Covid 19 virus epicenter of the world. Oh, "how the mighty are fallen." The virus has insinuated itself into every human life on earth. I dare say there is nowhere you can go that has not been touched by it, directly or indirectly—physically, economically, emotionally, or mentally. 

I present two poems in response. The first, is one I wrote this morning as I sat at my kitchen table, reading the sad news on my laptop while I heard birdsong wafting through my screen door on a warm, spring breeze. And the second, is one of my favorite poems of all time.

And, Still, the Birds Sing

  by 

Kate Louise Wood

I question and dread,

I cry, and I rage.

I say it’s all fine

as I lie through my teeth.

I tremble and quail,

I fret and I doubt.

I seek where to hide,

shutting down, shutting in.

But the world doesn’t stop,

though it feels like it must.

A breeze strokes my cheek

and ruffles the trees.

The sun warms my skin

and sparkles the bay.

And life presses on,

and, still, the birds sing.

"Carolina Wren" by contemporary N.C. artist, E. M. Corsa
(An original watercolor I gave my husband for his birthday)

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 - 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.

Thanks for stopping by. Y'all come back, now. (And wash your hands!)

Kate