“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.

—Emily Dickinson

c. 1861

Thanks, #[0] for the little blue bird that gave hope and voice to millions around the world. As the world changes, it’s nice to see that hope continued with #nostr Thank you, #[2] for Nostr and shoutout to #[3] for “Nostrich” so fitting! #[4]

Hope is the thing with feathers after all.

Peace. 🖖