Hope is the thing with feathers-
That perches in the soul…🐦
I discovered Emily Dickinson’s poetry while doing a MooC on American Contemporary Poetry, or ModPo as the course is called, conducted by University of Pennsylvania.
Dickinson was a recluse who unearthed universal truths, one poem at a time. I don’t remember much of what I learned during the course, but Dickinson’s poetry stayed with me. Poetry is powerful that way. It’s always present somewhere within you, only if you remember to pay attention to it. Like a flitting multi-hued butterfly. You blink and you miss. And if you pause and look closely, the colors will burst in front of your eyes to be recalled later as Wordsworth had said:
For oft, when on my couch I lieIn vacant or in pensive mood,They flash upon that inward eyeWhich is the bliss of solitude;And then my heart with pleasure fills…
As for me, reading poetry gets me out the funk as I said here.