Rain and warmth have vanquished all but a few scattered remnants of our snow. This morning hovered between ice and water. Small branches are decorated with suspended droplets, like a cold counterpart to the first flush of spring growth. Leaves crunch underfoot, kept frozen by the mass of the soil. I step over a border of fertile fronds onto a forest pool. Its sodden ice sags heavily. When I reach the stream I find it flowing merrily over a streambed of ice, which appears frothy from frozen air bubbles.