Merrily, We Roll Along

It's April, so everything must be wet.
Indeed, everything is.
It came fast and furious last Wednesday, with the appropriate thunder and lightning and reports of tornados ripping trailors to shreds in states West of here. It kept coming until there where rivulets flowing down the edges of the fields and making ruts in the road. It kept coming until the fields were like quicksand and sucked your foot in up to the ankle. It kept coming until the branch was ten times the size it was a few days before, and was slamming impatiently into its bank and threatened cave-in. Then it stopped, and then it started again.
Must be April.
Well, the greenhouse is spotless, that's all I can say. We've had plenty of time to start seeds and pot on plants and rearrange trays and sweep out from under the tables and polish the doorknobs. The shade cloth over the lettuce mix hoophouse is pulled taught and all its little tears are mended. The chicken wire that runs its length is patched, and the landscape fabric is ironed.
The pond is full.
The chickens are wet.
April.