The ducks, always serious about food, are waging war with the wind. When it subsides, they hustle into the yard and scoop up cracked corn. When the wind is scuttling in swirls of snow, the ducks huddle. They put their feet into their feathers and their beaks under their wings, neatly folded packages of feathers. They sit facing the wind and snow.
We’ve been out twice to throw food into the falling snow for them. They’ve been appreciative, have eaten. Now they snuggle into the storm, snow blowing around and between them as they wait for this blustery day to end.