hope is the thing.

Yesterday was one of those days. One of those days when you have a million things to do and you're tired and you feel like there's not enough time to do those million things. One of those days when you wonder if those million things are even worth doing because what is the point? One of those days when you just want to crawl into bed and go to sleep and wake up the next day to try again.

Yesterday was one of those days. But then I got a card in the mail from a dear friend and it was exactly what I needed. The poem inside the card was exactly what I needed:

"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.

(Thank you, Cara.)