We look forward to this new year with the undiminished hope that entrenched positions will relax and we can all start moving forward.
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 word of me.
Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)