Early this morning, I looked for hope in the sky.

A chilled breeze ruffled and tossed and danced with our country’s flag mounted on a pole off the front porch.

The same breeze whispered through tall crowns of white pine and hemlock next door and hustled a lone, brown oak leaf across the street.

More than one plane rumbled overhead across the sky, its passengers oblivious to my witness below.

I think about hope this morning in such terms of sight and sound. I wonder, if I kicked off my slippers and walked across the still-green grass if I could feel hope there, grounded as I would be and finding my way across cold and frost and a bit of fear.

I had hoped to hear the call of geese, but this morning chickadees and crows called to me and anyone else who’ll listen.

Like a prayer, I silently promise to listen. Content with whatever hope I can find.