Snow falls in the lingering
winter. A black-capped

chickadee hops from branch
to branch in the yew bush

outside my window. Then
a female cardinal hops on

and hops around. The red
berries with their poison

black cores are long gone
but the needles hang on.

The birds nibble at the
needles. “Are you that

hungry this winter or are
you starting to think of

nesting?” Time will tell.
Routines go on in the face

of climate change even for
the birds. Will the birds

wake up to the impending
disaster before we do? My

hunch is that they will.
What will they then do?

What will we do when we
get up and out of denial?

Time will tell in the short
time we have left.