Done with Summer

Shivering, without a coat
Just stepping onto the porch
For a moment,
 I test the bitter October air

Face and hands, exposed
Are the first to fall
But turtleneck and jeans
Put up only the slightest resistance
to the goose bump breeze.

Stoic, at first,
I stand on the porch
Thinking to adjust
To this chill-down world

The sky holds snow,
 No flakes yet,
But soon. . . .

The yard is  littered
with curled brown leaves
 Bright globes  of apples,
Worm eaten below the sheltering grass
Go to waste
 I am done with pies, and sauce

I lost interest in the flower beds
Back in the monsoon that was July,
Now gray, gold and rust stalks,
Dried blooms,
Seed pods of flowers and weeds, entangled,
Rattle
In the mean spirited breeze

My house mate's cat
Stalks across the yard,
Disdainful tail.
Straight but for the half inch
Quirk of annoyance,
Arched back, as if to put as much distance
Between white belly and cold earth
As possible.
 Offended yowl,
Wishing his people
Had never left the warmth
Of South Carolina
Wanting to be in and warm
And to hell with stoicism!

Together
We turn from
The cold, neglected yard
I open the door
And the cat and I
Enter the cocoon of the house
Where we will wait
For warmth,
And the rebirth of spring