Yesterday
stealing from the sun
dandelions
lit the shaded path
briefly. Now they’re gone.
Hurry through
faded meadows while
light still holds.
Days grow shorter; how
quickly evening comes.
Stirred to rise
by a falling foot,
feathered seeds
graceful on the breeze
drift towards the dawn.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.
But we can’t do it without readers like you.
Our goal: Raise $150,000 by November 1 to sustain First Things in the year ahead.
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