This poem by Emily Dickinson helped with the sense of the metaphysical within the birds, how I ‘see’ them. l hope to show the vital life within these small, feathered souls. I study them most days and keep sketchbooks and drawings to work from.
Hope
'Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And the 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 Dickinson
