Jasper Sloan Yip
indian summer
The future wonât look like the past: the latterâs glow fades into black. This Indian summer that we have, as lovely as it is, wonât last. Iâve seen the possibilities for the future in my dreams. Some are razor-thin and bleak, others sweet but out of reach. An honest job and honest wage, a picket fence to build and paint, planted trees and growing shade, a yard with yellow leaves to rake.
(it hit me hard and then I knew the vastness of all yet to do)