As late as yesterday ice preoccupied the pondódark, half-melted, waterlogged. Then it sank in the night, one piece, taking winter with it. And afterward everything seems simple and good. All afternoon I lifted oak leaves from the flowerbeds, and greeted like friends the green-white crowns of perennials. They have the tender, unnerving beauty of a baby's head. How I hated to come in! I've left the windows open to hear the peepers' wildly disproportionate cries. Dinner is over, no one stirs. The dog signs, sneezes, and closes his eyes.