One week ago today, my city was forever changed. It’s inconceivable that all the terror, shock, sadness, fear, anger, compassion, horror, tension, anxiety, suspense, and disbelief happened in these last seven days. It feels like seven months have elapsed since April 15. I am still stunned that the city shut down last Friday and I am so proud of the choices made to protect the people of Boston from further carnage. I stand Boston proud!
April is National Poetry Month. “April is the cruelest month.” And spring has burst forth. Two memorial services are being held today. And a moment of silence at 2:50pm. May reading poetry bring you solace.
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 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 Elizabeth Dickinson December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886
P.S. I took this photograph on Commonwealth Avenue yesterday- someone had sky imaged a heart!