August 23, 2024
Just home from the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, and between the convention’s events and writing every night until the sun came up, I am tired to the marrow of my bones. I have a LOT to say about the last four days, but I don’t want to make a hash of it, so it’s going to have to wait until tomorrow.
Until then, I’m posting this image from my friend Peter Ralston. It’s one of the first pictures he ever sent me when these letters began, and it’s one of the first that I used here, almost five years ago.
It seems like it’s time for a repost.
[Image “Hope” by Peter Ralston.]
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Notes:
You can find Peter and his wife Terri at the gallery in Rockport, Maine, or here: https://www.ralstongallery.com/
Gasp! I remember that lovely introduction to the photos of Peter Ralston!
Here is Emily Dickenson's "Hope" to share:
“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.
Hope….so appropriate. 🙏🫶🙏