We’ve been waiting for this day for four years.  I wake with the intention to stay and be calm, to nourish myself.  I’ll be with plants, walk by the marsh, eat comfort food.  I’m thinking it’s a day for chicken and mashed potatoes.  Maybe I’ll add some cranberry sauce in anticipation of a night of thanks.

So much is at stake.  I keep reading that poetry is the answer at a time like this.  Poems on Hope come my way.

Heather Cox Richardson keeps repeating in her column for today: Americans are voting in record numbers.

I’ve always voted, and I understand many had become disenchanted, felt the system was rigged, and that the two parties were the same.  We’re seeing clearly that the two parties are not the same, and also that every vote counts.

My heart is proud today, beating proudly, and as I nourish today, I trust that “good guys win”.

Emily Dickinson comforts me as I bring her words into the embodiment this day requires.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul –

And sings the tune without the words –

And never stops – at all –

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