with Jenny Tyson Winter is a time for deep reflection, warm comfort food, and, apparently, bird slapstick. The moment the snow starts falling, I go full hermit mode. You’ll find me cozied up in my flannel jammies, stationed by the fireplace, sipping something warm, and watching birds hurl themselves into my front door window like tiny, feathery torpedoes of poor decision-making. And I can’t help but wonder—do they feel embarrassed? Do they scan the sky, hoping sweet birdie Ethel didn’t see? Is there a bird named Jerry up there, already gathering material for the next bird roast? These are the things I contemplate while avoiding all forms of socialization.