I always wonder, at dusk usually, when I see ducks settling down for the night in some cold and moist place: how do they last until morning? Who keeps watch? Is it all so very Existential and bleak? Do ducks in winter, or all animals for that matter, even have a word for bleakness? Do they anticipate the spring? What are their memories of warmth and sun and abundant food? Is there joy in Mudville as the days dwindle to the winter solstice?