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What’s consistent now is not

the wind, nor the snow and ice

and cold, not the winter skies’ constant

change, but the birds at my feeder, feeding,

patient, waiting their turn to snatch

a sunflower’s seed and fly off, returning

again and again, busying themselves, chickadee

and nuthatch, the downy, the raucous jay

and cooing doves scavenging below, feasting.