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 don't remember ever hearing a metaphor that I love as much as this one about Hope. From Dickinson's words, I imagine Hope as a beautiful, exotic bird carrying with it the secret to life.
Hope can harbor many desires and needs and dreams. It can represent salvation and change. It can carry on its back an entire soul, lifting up sorrow and bringing back joy.
This week your prompt is to take the word Hope and build a story around it. Like Dickinson, I'd like you to start your piece with the word Hope. Let that one word carry you and your piece to great things. You have 500 words to give us Hope. Choose them well.