In a pool of sky

 I love to see the mare drops stain with gold the meadow drain  as John Clare put it in his sonnet about the advent of summer. But here they are already on the last day of February. Are they welcome or worrrisome? Is this just the difference between 19th century Norfolk and 21st century Pembrokeshire, one year versus another? Anyway, I'm happy to see them and the old pond surviving for another season.