I think my favorite animal is bird, or shall I say are birds. I love everything about them, be they’re small or big; be they tweet or crow. A Couple of days ago I watched the American Tree Sparrows that live in a big bush at our yard and was fascinated by them. They gathered like one big happy family. They look alike, but they’re not the same. Each one seemed to have a unique personality of its own. Then I remember a poem written by Emily Dickinson about hope. According to her, hope is some kind of a bird, lovely and yet mysterious. It can come in a split second, but then it can also fly away in a blink of an eye.I agree with her.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.