How difficult is autumn when it sets on the ruler. How cruel it is when it comes storming prematurely. The winds fall hard on the palace's curtains and the eyes of the guards. Prestige falters, ministers fall, and advisers and spokespeople jump ship. They forget their previous sycophancies and exaltations, and distance themselves from the ruler. How difficult it is to see the people responding in their droves to the call of rebellion, and to see rivers of men and women pouring into Tahrir Square, chanting "Leave...Leave" boisterously. How difficult it must be to see the million-strong marches of the opposition outnumber those of the loyalists, and how difficult it must be to see the oppositionists waving the flag while chanting, as though the president is against the flag, or the flags are voting against the president. He did not expect the stab to come from that square, the same one that had forced Hosni Mubarak to step down, and the same one that he insisted to go to when he won the election. It was as though he had wanted to say that he was taking the constitutional oath before the revolution and its primary arena. The president's anger is rising. It would not make sense for him that history would see the first elected civilian president in Egypt toppled the same way as Mubarak before him. Advisers are abandoning him, leaving him alone. But he knows that he is not an isolated president. He realizes that the fate of the group to which he belongs and his are inseparable. He knows that the Brotherhood does not have the luxury to sacrifice him, that his defeat will mean its defeat, and that his autumn will be its autumn – and also perhaps an autumn to all the Islamists that the Arab Spring brought out from prison and away from persecution, and propelled them unto the ballots and then to the seats of power. The president can hear the chants coming from the public squares, "Leave...leave." Who spoiled the relationship between him and all those people? Did they believe Bassem Youssef, Ibrahim Eissa, Wael Abrashi, Mahmoud Saad, Yusri Fouda, Amr Adib, Lamid Hadidi, and other ‘generals' of the screens? Is it permissible to leave Egypt in the hands of those and their daily trials that never end? Is it acceptable for the fate of Great Egypt to be decided by the ‘adolescents' who have mastered social media like Facebook and Twitter? Several months ago, the president mocked the statement made by Ahmed Shafik, in which he said that Morsi would not finish his term. He also mocked another statement by Mohamed ElBaradei, who said, "I met with the president and spoke with him, but I despaired of him... the solution is early presidential elections." Nor did he believe Hamdeen Sabahi when he said, "June 30 will be a new revolutionary wave, and Morsi has become an obstacle to the completion of the revolution." He did not pause for long when Amr Moussa said he feared for Egypt's spirit and identity, which gives the country its weight, stability, and role. And he rejoiced when he read what Essam el-Erian said, that the president would not only finish his term, but may also run for a second one. Erian, too, had not expected for the public squares of Egypt to fill up with protesters once more. He did not notice the precursors of the autumn. Yet it would have been possible to head off those precursors if Sisi had not done what he did, but Sisi was not late to make a move: the army's ultimatum clearly announced that autumn has indeed set on Morsi. The army has allied itself with the public squares and the millions that have poured into them, as though avenging itself against their earlier chants of "down, down, with military rule." But Sisi did it, and brilliantly. He concocted an ultimatum with a salvation plan. He steered his intervention clear of a coup formula. He did not leave the president and the Muslim Brotherhood except painful or suicidal choices: Clashing with the army, clashing with the protesters, or plunging the country into a kind of a civil war that would make it easy for Sisi to execute his ultimatum under the pretext of preventing collapse. As Morsi paces his office, the deadline given by Sisi is drawing close. Time is flying and the leaves of the term's tree are falling. Bending before the ultimatum will be bitter, and many will celebrate the Brotherhood's autumn. Meanwhile, risking a confrontation in the street is a suicidal decision, more dangerous than the decision to run in the elections and placing the presidential palace under the Brotherhood's yoke. The president is feeling a little unlucky. He is probably telling himself that he wished the presidency went to Khairat el-Shater instead. The tired president then goes to sleep, after checking his watch one more time. At the same time, another man was checking his watch. His name is field marshal Abdel Fattah al-Sisi. Each duel is a risk, and time waits for no one. The game is merciless: If the president survives, the autumn will move on to Sisi.
