Throughout my years,
tomorrows ran up ahead
beyond my outstretched arms.
When I was nine, tomorrow was ten.
When I was ten, tomorrow was eleven.
Tomorrows seemed close —
they pulled me like a magnet.
But when I thought to have gained tomorrow,
it moved ahead like a mirage.

Tomorrows offered clean slates to me,
but didn’t watch what I wrote;
they seemed to hold promises,
but they never gave reports
on promises fulfilled;
they even offered agenda
but never ever attended the meetings.

And so, for all those years,
like a wanderer seeking a promised land
but never reaching it,
I sojourned in todays
but never set foot in tomorrows …

until now in my 80s
I am at home with
yesterday, today and tomorrow.

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About the author

Dan Hess

A surprise, my son urged me to walk El Camino, a trail stretching about a thousand kilometers from southwest France to western Spain. It was not a race; I did not run. Yet as I walked (usually alone) I sensed keenly that I was here and now, not there and tomorrow.

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