In the morning, puddles of water on the driveway are frozen over and even when Barney stamps on them while he waits for the bus, their ice surfaces do not crack immediately.

By 10 o’clock, steam is smoking off the east roof of the little garden shed as melted snow evaporates into the thirsty air.

Looking westward from the deck, the path to the garden is still full of snow, back in the trees. The snow there will be the last to go.

By noon, the steady drip-drip-drip of the waterspout above the deck will be the only rushing current around this yard.