Tale of a blessing

Let me preface this post by saying that I love Emily Dickinson's poetry, its rythm is very pleasing, and much of it is deep and I love how she says things with very precise words that go perfectly in the verse. :D

So the other day I went up to a theatre nearby to get my ticket to go see The Dark Knight. (for Saturday) My dad let me drive up there (I have my permit now), but once we got there at about 9:45 AM we went in and found that the box office doesn't actually open until 10:30. Thankfully there is a Barnes and Noble nearby and so we hopped back in the car and drove on over there. I walked in and paused next to a table loaded with Barnes and Noble's signature collection of hardback classics. What should my hand pause on? Why it's a book of the collected poems of Emily Dickinson!!! How exciting. I flip through it happily, when suddenly the fact comes to my attention that these books are all on a table because they are all on sale! So i pop open the cover to see the price there inscribed: $7.95. Ooh, this is actually cheap for a book! I realized. Then I looked at the sales percentage. 30% off, with a subtext of 10% off for members. Providentially my dad happens to be a member of this illustrious store. :D So I hopped over to where my dad was, and showed him the very good price on the book i'd found and added "She's my favorite poet!", along with some pleading eyes that i'm sure completely won him over, because he smiled and said, sure, you can get it. We weren't leaving right away and as I browsed--book tightly clutched in hand--it occurred to me that I had a Barnes & Noble card in my wallet...although i didn't know the balance on said card. So i gave it to my dad as ahe stood in the checkout line. He came an handed me my book, and said that there had been $5 on it. Pretty much exactly what i needed to pay for the remnant of my book. :D Praise God for free Emily Dickinson books! :D

Here are 2 of my favorite poems of hers.

LXXXIII

Not one by Heaven defrauded stay

Although He seem to steal,

He restitutes in some sweet way.

Secreted in His will.

XXXII

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 couold 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.