Just for a moment—
open your ears, lift your eyes.

For a full circle of days,
autumn has been sleeping gently beneath the soil,
fed by wind and rain,
sun and moon,
stars and the cool breath of midnight dew.

Now, ripened with kindness,
it calls you—
calls you to its quiet feast in the fields.

On the pale face of a wild chrysanthemum
rests a smile untouched by time.
Even in a fading blade of grass,
the long quarrel between joy and sorrow
has come to rest,
and prepares to depart alone.

Those who feared to love,
those who turned away from love,
those whose hearts were torn by love,
those who drowned in love’s sweetness—
all must go now,
empty-handed,
their hearts a hollow shell.

Before the clouds drift from the sky,
before the stars and dew dry up,
before the sun grows cold—

there is a face you must meet alone,
a cry of insects you must hear alone,
a dry forest path
you must walk alone.

In the field,
where the last flame of life burns bright,
hope scatters its small seeds, whispering:
“This is not the end.”

Beloved,
come into autumn.

Meet the season that dies
to enter a greater love.

Come now—
to the waiting arms of autumn,
open wide,
longing for your embrace.