The Thing
With Feathers.

A small bird.
A stubborn kind of hope.

Fly through sunshine, storms, and the chillest land. A playable love letter to the song that keeps going.

Take flight

Hope has
little wings.

A little courage. One wingbeat at a time.

Ready when you are.

SPACE or click / tap to flap

M to mute

Collect hearts. Keep your hope up.

From the first light to the fiercest storm,
there’s always another wingbeat.

“That perches in the soul”

“And sweetest in the gale is heard”

“I’ve heard it in the chillest land”

A crash is just a pause in the song. Catch your breath, flap, and carry on.

Emily Dickinson imagined hope as a bird that asks for nothing, yet keeps singing through everything.

This is our way of giving it wings.

Emily Dickinson 1830 — 1886

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.

And never stops at all.