Hope Lives In Tomorrow

I am up, awake and out of bed, slowly struggling to get myself together. It's a noon checkout at the hotel here in San Francisco, a blessing which allows me to move more slowly, get a bit more rest, take it easy for a bit of extra time. I've just made myself a cup of coffee. I will write for a bit. Then shower and dress. Finally, packing and I am on the road to Sacramento.

My hotel room is on the second floor; the hotel is only four stories high. I think there are building codes which restrict building height in this part of town. There are no tall buildings nearby. My room looks out over the street where the usual traffic and tourist action takes place. It is a never ending variety show of Segway tours, bicycle tours, walking tours. 

Then there are the locals; in this part of town they range from people making their way to and from work, catching the bus, driving by, to the homeless person setting himself up on the porch of the room below me; the first floor rooms on this end of the building have direct street access. The security folks came and hustled the homeless man away; he crossed the street and fell asleep on the sidewalk. This morning he has gone, most likely moved off in search of a meal or a drink.

The sky is a low, dull grey, covered in clouds which could easily become a heavy fog but for the sake of a few hundred feet of airspace. The sunshine is heavily filtered, blocked into a somber grey. Into all of this I need to gather myself, to take my feelings and emotions, my stress and my fear, and get on the road again. 

I am doing that. I always seem to do that. It's not that I don't want to give up; I can't. I know of no other way to be. I always get up; I keep on going. No matter how I feel, no matter how distressed, or elated for that matter, the only direction I know of is forward. What's behind is behind; the future lies in front of me. The only place I can really live is in the here and now. The only place which offers hope is tomorrow.