Hope is the Thing With Feathers…That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all…
–Emily Dickinson
I commute from Newburyport to Boston three days a week to work in my office between Copley Square and The Public Garden. This time of year, both the square and the park slowly come to life with crowds of people rejoicing in the warmth and sunlight of Spring—a much-welcomed change after a cold and persistent winter.
Last Monday, however, the joy of Spring was muffled by senseless explosives that took three lives and injured over two hundred people during one of the city’s most cherished events, the Boston Marathon.
In high contrast to the unspeakable horror of that day, the sun continued to shine on Boston; Spring did not cease to exist. At first I wished nature would play a more mournful role by blanketing the sky with dark clouds and sending chilly winds through the city. But she did not. The sun didn’t set until 7:35 pm, more than four hours after the tragic incidents. The light of day relentlessly exposed the site of the bombings while warm breezes and scents of blossoming flora mixed with dispersing smoke. It didn’t seem right, it didn’t seem fair.
But I’ve since taken a different view. We’ve all heard of—and maybe some of us even experienced—the heroism and kindness of people in Boston that day.
Perhaps that generosity of spirit is like the sun that continued to shine down on our little corner of the world.
Maybe it reminds us that, like Spring, we must continue to move forward and that life goes on even after a crisis.
One of the hallmarks of Spring is the increasing presence of bird song. Since my office was closed the day after the Marathon, I worked from home. It was a truly beautiful day in Newburyport and the gorgeous song of a cardinal rang out from a nearby treetop. Spring continued to remind me that it was here, as sad as I felt about the events of the previous day. I remembered too that the bird migrations has begun, and that birdwatchers were beginning to flock to nearby Plum Island to witness the arrival of dozens of colorful avian species.
The next day I went to work in Boston and walked by the Public Garden—another sanctuary for our feathered friends. To my dismay, there were armed guards and news vans installed along the sidewalk. But the trees inside the park were blossoming like crazy, and people strolled about, admiring the flowers or the Swan Boats, and birds chattered away. Above all I heard the clear, energetic song of a single cardinal, and I suddenly recalled a friend telling me that cardinals—with their bright red plumage and vital presence—symbolize hope, life, and rebirth.
“Hope” seems a fitting theme during this time. There are many symbols of hope found in nature—but somehow nothing seems so powerful to me as birds migrating from far away (often in the face of incredible adversity), establishing their territory, and letting the world know they are here. A bird’s cheerful and vigorous song is a reminder that life can be truly beautiful, bringing joy to our hearts. After all, as Emily Dickinson wrote, “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul…”.