The standing water is clear and deep. Everywhere you hear the calls of birds, morning and evening. I’ve seen robins hopping solemnly in the fields for weeks: when the fields were brown, when they were drowned, and now that they’re green with unruly, tufted but still short grass. The stark branches of winter have become bumpy and blurred. And in places you can already see the tender green haze of Spring’s early musings.