The Slow Times Come

The slow times come and take us by the hand, leading us – one by one – out across these plains away from the cities, where we fell, and out into the space and quiet of a land of possibilities. There were times when we shaped our lives around these cities, building them up as high as the buildings that reach towards the skies. Busying our lives as frantic as any rush hour street, racing from somewhere to somewhere else.

Then the times changed; we grew older and our lives slowed down. The city turned away from us as our lives shrank back down and returned to a slowness that made the city become strange, alien, unfamiliar. Those streets that we once saw as safe and familiar as the face of some lover, grew cold and strange, distant, as though the lover had turned away, leaving us alone.

Then we too, turned away from the city, walking those roads we had not taken that led away from the, now turned cold, heart of the city. We headed out away from the high buildings, the crowds and the faces turning away from us.

We came out here to where the slow river flows past as though all the time waits for us to decide how we want to live again.