the pond in our patio;
the tip, none the worse for wear, of the little arbor vitae I planted in the fall;
the lavender bushes–seemingly alive–by the stone wall;
the patch of lemon thyme–smelling of lemon–by the back door;
wild chamomile sprouts between the slate slabs;
shallow ponds of muddy, sky-reflecting water all over the lawn;
a thick carpet of sunflower seed hulls and rabbit poop all around the bird feeder;
another stratum of winter dog poop.
And, with much rejoicing, my red-crested, black-and-white Barred Rock hen, who, having ventured outdoors for the first time since December yesterday, survived the night by herself under the chicken house and lived to lay another egg.