A Backyard Pair o’ Ducks

By mountain torrents swung the birdfeeder, eschewing its contents onto the snow.

Through thaws and freezes the seed feed sank into the snow.

By springs warming, it emerged again, a granary pile from receding snow.

To it they come, and Rachel and I watch. One brown female. One curl-tailed male. Two mallards who waddle up from the stream, across my dormant lawn, to dine together in the mid-morning sun.

T: What’s another name for a crate full of duckings?

R: A box of quackers?