I agree with Emily Dickinson – hope is a thing with feathers.
But not always.
Sometimes hope is a thing with fronds.
I believe the saying – hope springs eternal.
I’d also add: Spring is a sure sign of eternal hope.
I don’t know what’s coming up in front of Gringo Jack’s, not that it matters much. I do know what’s poking out of the snowy bed at the rectory – not that knowing matters much. The hope of new life is a gift, whether I can put a name to it or not.
Letting go of what doesn’t matter: Knowing exactly what that budding life is.
Loving what does: Life renewing itself.