Emily Dickinson said that “Hope is the thing with feathers.”

Today, the robins were playing little birdie games outside my window. They have a nest in my apple tree, and the three babies are raucous and delightful.

Robins are hopeful.

They return early every year to play in the snow when all the world is bleak and devoid of growth, for no other reason than they believe Springtime is coming.

And you know what? They’re always right.