"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.
Yesterday I had my eyes dilated during my yearly eye exam. You would think that having your eyes wide open would be a good thing, that the world would come into clearer focus, that you would see more detail, that all would be revealed... Maybe I'm getting carried away with my hopes for vision, but you get the idea. Unfortunately the opposite happens, your vision blurs, the light is offensive, and if you are like me you spend the rest of the day in a dark room with sunglasses on waiting for your sight to be restored, as trying to focus your eyes on anything is futile. As a visual person not being able to take in the world around me is challenging, but it provides a pause & brings me back to sight with renewed vigor. Happy Wednesday Y'all!
The Hunting Island State Park adventure continue with a lighthouse tour. I love the stark black & white paint of this lighthouse. Inside continued the theme with black stairs & white walls. It was all quite graphic. Because it was such a clear day you could see for miles, which is always interesting. How does the mind really comprehend that much distance? Rationally I can know that something is 10 miles away, but it may look like it is only 500 yards or it may look like its 50 miles? Regardless, it was fun to learn about this lighthouse. Happy Thursday Y'all!
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