It’s a Sly, Old World

It creeps up on you, this feeling.

As the sun worshippers parade around in their ceremonial tank tops and flip flops, you’re not entirely sure what you believe. You feel like you’re standing on a precipice. You look out and view the land – colors, movement, emotions.

And what the worshippers don’t want you to see, don’t want you to realize, is that the sun is shining a little less bright each day. Now comes the time of the winds, and the clouds, and the rain; colors – bright exotic beautiful colors – a final, glamorous display asking forgiveness for what may – no, inevitably, will come.

Then your heart realizes what it is that creeps and sweeps across the land in all its artistic inevibility.


Your feet are a little lighter. You don’t mind the rain. You don’t mind the darkness in the morning or the late evening. You start to dream of fields, orchards, and firesides: dry, crisp winds carrying a feeling of intangibility.

This old, revolving world isn’t so bad. The winter wasn’t so harsh. Summer wasn’t so short. You look forward to Autumn because you realize at the end of these days the change is inevitable. Can’t stop it, stall it, start it over. The best efforts you can give is to embrace it, or ignore it. But whoever said ignorance is bliss when you’re really missing out on such a bright, bold, beautiful world as this?

Welcome back, my friends. It has been a long season. A glorious, wonderful season of life.

This has been,

Fanny T. Crispin

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