After my sweet mom died, I made this shadow box for my heartbroken father. (These are paper doves, not stuffed!) Together, Mom and Dad had always enjoyed the sweet sound of mourning doves and kept their bird and squirrel feeders full. Now, my parents live together in a softer place.

The poem is Emily Dickinson’s:

Hope is the thing with feathers

that perches on the soul

and sings a tune

without the words

and never stops at all.

(excerpt)

For this coming new year, my wish for all of you is to feel the love, peace, joy and hope in the soft tickles of feathers.

Blessings all,

Carolyn