Dear Emily, you taught us that
“Hope is a thing with feathers
that perches in the soul.”
That thing with feathers also
perches on bush and tree
and carries seed
to remake the world from
dark and crass
to life renewed
as flowering blooms
and melon vines which zoom
across the flower beds
so carefully planted
and now supplanted
by delightful fruit.
We call such wonders volunteers.
I call them hope’s pursuit of faith
dropped into dark soil
by things with feathers;
expanding our gardens
and our hearts, too.
Never has the phrase feathered friends
rung more true
than in a garden making amends
by feathered seedlings born anew.
annarino writes 