True hope is swift and flies with swallow's wings; kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.
~ William Shakespeare
We all have our hopes and dreams. Sometimes, we employ extreme measures and work and fret ourselves half to death to ensure that they come to fruition. Other times, we simply let the chips fall where they may and hope for the best. How do you manage your hope? Do you micro manage it as best you can, or do you leave it in the hands of Fate? Does it really matter because, in the end, won't whatever will be, be?
4 comments:
Hope 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.
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Do not ask me what that means, but it always comes to my mind when someone speaks of hope. I guess hope is a pretty little bird to Emily.
Hope: the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best. Amen!
I remember seeing that E. D. poem just recently. Who knows what hope is? I'd prefer that it be the pretty little bird and not a hungry vulture.:)
I actively take my hope by the scruff of its neck and give a kick or two directly in the butt each week....keeping it alive, constantly.
Felt good to think about it that way!
quid
Quid, that's the way to take charge of hope and show it who's boss.:)
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