Sunday, March 19, 2017

Hope is the thing with feathers

february 27 journal page


I love this poem by Emily Dickinson (see the full poem below). And it inspired this sumi ink drawing in my journal. The bird shows signs of scuffles and looks a bit scraggy. I didn't intend to draw it that way. I started out with the general outline and then added patterns and markings. In the end, maybe this is how I picture Hope.

Hope is not the new born. She is older. She is the one who has been there in the dark times and continued singing despite the storm. She's weathered the twists and turns that come with being alive. She's stayed strong and vigilant. And she continues to remind us to stay courageous and keep moving forward.



“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.






Spring officially begins tomorrow and today has been a beautiful, sunny day. I wish everyone a sun-filled week.





joining Sunday Sketches

8 comments:

  1. Thanks for these inspiring words, which we all need sometimes. Beautiful inspired bird sketch too.

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  2. I don't think I've heard this poem by Emily before. It's beautiful and your drawing is PERFECT for it...totally sets the mood. Beautiful! :)

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  3. was nice and sunny here today, just really really windy :/

    never heard the poem before but it is a nice one and I think you bird and colour choice go really well with it :D

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  4. It's wonderful to read the lovely poem and look at your wonderful illustration. It makes me feel happy and optimistic.

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  5. What a beautiful poem and I love the illustration. They are wonderful together.

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  6. It is challenging to remain hopeful sometimes in our recent political environment. But the words you selected to accompany your drawing are beautiful and hopeful.

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  7. *sigh*... I've always been fond that E. Dickinson poem... And my heart swells over your thoughts on hope. I think of new born more as promise. Hope is more mature, hanging in there, braving the storms, readjusting the feathers... :) Happy Spring, Juana ((HUGS))

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