It’s good to be back home again (in Animal Crossing)
It’d been a long time since I’d played Animal Crossing.
Last night I stopped by Eudoxia — my hometown, there — to see what was going on. Entropy was going on: time passes in Animal Crossing whether you pay attention to it or not.
I found everything you’d want from a (simulated) early summer evening, a bright night under clear skies, starred with constellations: some I’d drawn myself, others created by friends. Moths flittered around the lamps at the town’s gate, and fireflies blinked indistinct, diffuse, apparently weightless. From certain spots, I could hear some kind of cricket thing chirping.
Weeds had sprouted everywhere. The town was overrun with wild grass, clover, dandelions matured into fluffy clocks. Most of the flowers had died, their brown husks crumbling as I passed by.
Letters waiting in the mail: birthday parties missed, farewells unacknowledged, special events announced but now past.
Some of the town’s animal residents had moved in during the interval, and didn’t know who I was. Others greeted me by name, but wondered where I’d been. A few of my favorites were gone.
My character’s house was the same as I left it, after I squished the roaches that had moved in.
Then, I went back outside, and pulled all the weeds, wild grass, clover, and dandelions; found a four-leaf clover, and blew apart the dandelion heads. I cleaned up the dead flowers and chatted with some of the villagers. I sent a few letters. It was good.
Then, I shut down the game, went back outside, and took a walk. I’ll probably return to Animal Crossing in a few more months, and have the same kind of melancholic experience. It’ll be there, waiting, changing a little bit each day, even if I don’t notice.

