It was pleasant in the early year to walk now and then along the footpath that followed the brook, noting the gradual changes in the hedges.
When the first swallow of the spring wheels over the watery places the dry sedges of last year still stand as they grew.

They are supported by the bushes beside the meadow ditch where it widens to join the brook, and the water it brings down from the furrows scarcely moves through the belt of willow lining the larger stream.

As the soft west wind runs along the hedge it draws a sigh from the dead dry stalks and leaves that will no more feel the rising sap.
By the wet furrows the ground has still a brownish tint, for there the floods lingered and discoloured the grass.

Near the ditch pointed flags are springing up, and the thick stems of the marsh marigold.

From bunches of dark green leaves slender stalks arise and bear the golden petals of the marsh buttercups, the lesser celandine.