“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.

By Emily Dickinson

A poem to read after watching the news or reading the papers.

Humans are really a race of hawks and warmongers—they have an inherent need to exterminate each other. History has taught us nothing—we have achieved huge improvements in technology, but none in human nature. Anyone who doubts that should read Herodotus’s Histories.

Of course not everyone fits into that category—humans are also capable of great feats of invention, creativity and cooperation. Sadly, the warmongers will usually prevail, since they are prepared to go to lengths peacemakers won’t. It is amazing how excessive power and wealth will corrupt almost everybody.

We are constantly bombarded with too much information, most of it of a disagreeable or horrifying nature. Corpses, ruins, starving children, shootings and stabbings, unspeakable politicians. I read the headlines, but avoid watching the news on television. One cannot take the whole world’s misery on one’s shoulders, and it is useless to worry about things one can do nothing about. But of course I do worry—it is impossible not to be anxious about the world we are leaving our descendants.

However, there is still so much beauty on this earth, it is good to seek it out as much as possible. Being lucky enough to live in the country, I revel in nature’s bounty. At this time of year, life is bursting out everywhere. Bees buzz, birds sing, cherries ripen on the trees.