More Weather

The wheel has turned again. The air is
a little thinner, with winter
advancing out of the North. Crippled he may be
but always dark,

and quite a curse, as a visitor. He opens your cupboards,
and notes what is threadbare,
the holes in your sweater,
some stumbling when you walk;

Not the cat you once were.

I will set a hearth for him. I will cook a fine stew
and yet I note --
this year I hesitated.