Dateline: Autumn, October 18, 2010—This morning I begin my journey to the Philippines, but before I go I need to leave one more thought. I sit here in the forested hills north of Oita, Japan, wrapped in a blanket against the cold, having slept under four inches of quilts. Autumn has come to Japan. It is amazing how quickly it came. A month ago I was sweltering, miserable all the time because of the inordinate heat. It was the hottest summer on record and continued through most of September. I longed for the relief of the autumnal equinox, and now I sit here freezing.

Soon the first leaf will fall, its abscission layer dried and useless, to be carried by a cool breeze away from its tree mates. That is what autumn does. And so it is in life. Most of us reach our autumn years. A bit of frost collects around the temples, our days become shorter, we lose some of our foliage, it is colder at night. These we either embrace with graceful good humor and thankful resignation, or subject ourselves to salves and creams, potions and lotions, nips and tucks. But after all the turning, one leaf has to fall first, to lead the way to decay. Some will hold on till the dead of winter, some will cast off sooner. But there are a few which, for one reason or other, loose their holds far too early. We have all known them, some we have loved.

Last Friday I received word that a dear friend from the summer of ’69 had passed away in 2005. This lively pixie who provoked me and loved me, who was so full of life and promise, had flown away in her late summer. I had been trying to find her for years but now it is forever too late.

While the leaves are still on the tree, enjoy them, appreciate them. Don’t arrive at winter’s solstice filled with vain regret. My friend’s name was Betty Shewmaker. She loved poetry and I wrote her many poems that summer and fall in the style of Rod McKuen, her favorite. So, one last poem, this one a sonnet, in memory and tribute to her, and in solemn reminder to us that the days are getting shorter.

It seems that scarce our summer ends

That autumn breaths her slow decline

Into the deep, whence winter’s winds

Consign us ‘neath the snows of time.

We run through springtime’s fleeting day,

Then strongly walk the breadth beyond;

Till soon, too soon, we stroll the way

Twixt when we are and when we’re gone.

But there are those who share their hearts

Mid springtime’s youth, in summer’s prime;

Who falter, fade and then depart

And leave their friends and loves behind.

Oh, one more time to see your face,

Just one last long and warm embrace.

May God bless your days while they are called today for "the dead know not any thing, neither have they any more a reward; for the memory of them is forgotten." Eccl. 9:5.

Don "Hoot" Miller