With profound respect and admiration for Emily Dickinson and her poem, "Hope is a thing with feathers," here's my own "take" on "Hope" ...
Hope is a chipmunk, too,
Gathering seeds in July
For whatever winter brings
With December’s snows.
May I learn from him to hope,
That today is just that,
Today, a chance to gather
Whatever goods I'll need
To help me pass from this
Season to the next…
We have chipmonks running near WHERE I LIVE, BUT THE OTHER DAY , a tenant had to go pick on off the street- his days are gone, but there must be others still here.
I feel differently now, but I must admit that I hunted chipmunks for fun when I was young. We ate squirrels, but not chipmunks. Fortunately, they are prolific and often prey for owls and other woodland predators, so I was just one at the time. But chipmunks always presented a vision of hopeful cheerfulness as they chirped and work their way carefully along logs and stumps of ancient trees.
Perhaps "..Quiet Storm" will help rekindle old flames buried and long forgotten or express the love so deeply locked inside of your soul longing to be released.
Regardless of where you may be found in love this beautiful masterpiece can be
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