The grass is turning. Still speckled with yellow and brown thatch it is greener than it was yesterday.
It will be a couple of months till the sheep and donkeys can graze. The grass is more like winter moss, not long enough for the animals to eat without damaging the roots.
By late morning the sun is as strong as the wind. Looking out my studio window as I write this, I see last year’s leaves quiver, then migrate on the wind to the other side of the yard where they get caught on the fence.
The highest tips of the maples on the hill across Route 22 whisper red buds.