Hope is what sits by a window
Hope is what sits by a window and waits for one more
dawn, despite the fact that there is not one ounce of
proof in tonight's black, black sky that it can possibly
come.
This is our modern curse: A century of conspicuous consumption has trained us to be dutiful citizens of the Republic of Not Enough, swearing allegiance to the marketable myth of scarcity, hoarding toilet paper for the apocalypse. Along the way, we have unlearned how to live wide-eyed with wonder at what Hermann Hesse called "the little joys" — those unpurchasable, unstorable emblems of aliveness that abound the moment we look up from our ledger of lack.