I've been waiting for months to visit Amherst, MA - the home of aclaimed poetess, Emily Dickinson. It turned into one of those rich afternoons where my inner soul kept proclaiming, "I LOVE living here!!"
The old homestead is situated about 3 blocks from the heart of Amherst College. It's quaint, it's quiet, and the tour concludes with a poetry reading under a beautiful, old elm tree - part of the original estate.
My sweet husband took the kids so I could take the 45 min tour. He was late picking me up so I walked the 3/4 mile to the city cemetary and saw her grave.
It reminded me of our trip to Concord 2 years ago where this avid Humanities fan almost started doing flip-flops in the Sleepy Hollow Cemetary. I need to go back there again soon. Amherst wasn't Concord - but it was still uplifiting. It was soothing to be reminded of her words.
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.
Thank you Ms. Dickinson...