the essay : rituals …
The Essay : r i t u a l s . . .
. . . uncovering ME . . .
. . . rituals . . .
The Essay : rituals …
“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 Dickenson
… the end …
Please feel free to contact me to share your outcomes or with any questions you may have.
fragmented.ME xXx

