Why am I doing this? I suppose it’s obvious to anyone else out there who teaches American Lit to high school students that I’ve taken the title for this space from some Dickinson and Whitman.  “Hope is a thing with feathers,” writes Emily.  Reminding me that all good intentions are delicate and lofty, and made to fly off at a moments notice.  All new endeavors are evidence of hope.  These hopes have to do with starting and sustaining conversation and dialogue, as well as exploring ideas.  And then there is Whitman.  The grand old man of self promotion, and self publication.  Singing the body electric, and exploring democracy through one act of defiant writing after another.  I just like your style, Walt, and I can learn something from that.

I think of Miss Emily, in her crisp white linens, scribbling poems on envelopes and shoving them in the backs of drawers for others to find and publish.  And I think, “well this was a lady who clearly planned to organize all her bits and pieces one day.  Don’t we all?” Unless we are the Walt’s of the world.  In which case, like Mr. Whitman, we organize and publish, and republish, and republish–or edit, and post, and repost–our own words over and over and over until they are finally noticed for the many leaves of grass that they are.

So, why am I doing this?  Getting my bits and pieces, my odds and ends and scraps of thinking out where they can be seen.  Letting them take flight.