Ornithological Metaphors

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.


~Emily Dickinson

A lovely poem, from a familiar poet.  


And I am here to tell you that Consternation is also a thing with feathers.  It perches on a finger and says a number of desperate and searching things when its tail is grabbed and held--with what no doubt feels like a state of permanency--in a one-year-old's chubby fist. 


On a separate note, a one-year-old's chubby fist can be uncommonly hard to pry open, when you are trying not to damage your parakeet's pride and joy.