You see this floating around the internet a lot—it’s from Emily Dickinson. She actually wrote: “Hope is the thing with feathers/That perches in the soul,/And sings the turn without the words,/And never stops at all.” 

True. 

I’ve also begun to think of Hope as a thing with roots, holding fast in a storm. 

Though the wind may steal some leaves, or snap a branch or two, the roots anchor deep, and the trunk stands tall, waiting together for sun’s return. 

This can also be true. 

That’s the nice thing about creativity, used in real life. 

You can mix metaphors. 

You can contradict yourself.

You can collect the pieces of what sings to you and weave fresh meaning from it, and you can allow all of it to be true.