The leaves unhooked themselves from trees
And started all abroad;
I'll tell you how the sun rose,--
A ribbon at a time.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
It reaches to the fence,
It wraps it, rail by rail,
Till it is lost in fleeces;
It flings a crystal veil
On stump and stack and stem,--
Continue to see the world through Emily's eyes for just one week more. Remember.
She looked at the ordinary moments and found extraordinary ones within. In the words of Miss Dickinson, "To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else."
In the quiet moments of your day notice the world around you. Record it. Write poetry if it comes to you.
The seasons are changing. Colder mornings change the sound, your breath, and the colors. If you can do it, get out there and watch an autumn sun rise. You will be all the better for it, and your writing will, too.
I look forward to hearing what you find.