three months, and my soles, palms, fingers still cracking. trouble doesn't pass, it lodges inside. it may take the neighborhood. where everyone's a host. three months of sorrow, and three months more of winter. we must be good hosts to bad lodgers. must abide what evil comes in men like weather. skin will crack. buildings rise and fall. the healing will lay down with the sickness. we will be like the weather. we will weather this.