A Spaghetti Morning

Overnight rains soaked an already saturated ground. When I walk, the ground squishes, except when I go through puddles. Then I splash. The only critters enjoying the morning are the chickens. They see past the standing water, the saturated grounds -- to the worms seeking refuge. They notice the greening grass and clover. To them, the morning is a feast. They slurp up the worms and pluck the emerging bits of clover. I retreat indoors and start a fire in the wood-burning stove. On mornings like this, it’s easier to flip the switch that fires up the oil-burning furnace. But I know the wood heat may take a little of the dampness from this wet spring morning.