The November winds howl out of the north,

Leaving a chill that seeps through a jacket like the fillings of a jelly donut

The water so cold, it steams like coffee in the morning

Flocks of mallards, bunched together in V’s ,

Seeming to dance across the horizon

The birds seem to move in a rhythmic sequence

Slowly landing, feet down in the water,

As graceful as a gymnast off a balance beam

Landing so softly it hardly makes a sound

The fluorescent greens and purples glicen in the sun,

While they swim around whistling and quacking

There bright orange feet propel themselves around the marsh,

After they prene their feathers hoping to attract a mate