Children and birds, hope and feathers

Grandchildren: three sisters and a brother, July 3, 2014.

Tomorrow will be the 4th of July. Tonight we had a barbecue in the backyard. Afterwards. grandchildren threw stones into the creek. Then a duck came by and they put out some cracked corn; they watched her for a long time as she daintily picked up one tiny corn bit after another. It was cooler in the shade and the food had been very good. And the evening light was beautiful. Grownups lolled on the lawn.

For whatever reason I was reminded of the slides I recently sent to be scanned of my brothers and sisters in 1955 after they had rescued a white dove from a cat. They don't remember much about this but the pictures are a great record of an untrammeled childhood. Here is one of them. The child holding the bird is my beloved brother Robert who died in 1997.

And some of my siblings in 1954: three brothers and a sister;

And below is tonight's poem  by Emily D.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers - #314

“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.

Emily Dickenson (1830-1886)

I hope you, too, are having a lovely summer holiday!