Part I

We have had a few cool mornings
here in the northeast corner of Kansas
but there is something a bit different,
a sharper chill in the midst of these glacial hills,
a deeper hint than the pastel tints of early autumn
in the hardwoods topping the bluff across the creek.

The last tinge of green 
has left the upper blades of corn
and there is a shifting of the golden tones 
in the lower dips of soybean fields
moving toward the brown that already
rides the crests.

After a restless night,
I walk down the slight slope
from the house toward the barn,
feel something more like cold
and see my breath hanging in the air.
Just briefly, yes, but enough to test the thought
that we ought to have a few more warm days
before easy autumn gives way to harsher truth.

In one more week, 
we will have our first freeze
and it will leave the tomato vines
hanging limp and wilted on their frames,
un-ripened fruit turned useless on the stem,
telling us in more certain terms:
winter is coming


	Part II

A message from a former student
and a text from my son
who teaches at the same university
where I once taught—part time
confirm that the wife of a former colleague
has passed away in West Kentucky.

Danny and I taught together
for a few years,
doubled enrollment in Industrial Arts
at Calloway County High School,
mainly by loving what we did
and the students that we had.

We both taught drafting and woodworking.
He also covered sheet metal fabrication
and built the starting gate
for the CO2 dragsters the kids made from a block of wood.
We both won bets against kids half our age
when we proved that we could jump over
five-foot square workbenches—
without crashing into the wall or the window.

We both went on from there
to doctorates in education,
careers in college,
and grandkids.

Forty years later…
I called to offer my concern and care
and he shared a sketch of the story
of Gina’s last days
and the way the cancer took her
after over a year of fighting
with a sudden end.

He is the first friend my own age
to lose his wife.

I hung up the phone,
felt a tightening in my chest,
shuddered at his loss
and an even deeper knowing:
winter is coming.

H. Arnett
10/16/2024