A March day in the yard

It's snowing.  First came the hail, then it gradually feathered down to snow.  The big flakes hiss down quietly into the pond, leaving a trace of slush as they fall deep and fast.  The goose decoys placed in the water by our neighbor are sporting inch-deep caps on their black heads.  These decoys may have played a part in our having a pair of real geese residing in the marsh across from us.  I hope they will nest in the deep grass, but no sign of it yet.   The gander keeps careful watch as the female grazes and dozes in the sun that has followed the snow.  Even the occasional dog wandering through the field avoids his arched neck and warning hiss.
Through the soft, wet flakes I see two cold looking goldfinches at the seed feeder.  Every available yellow feather is fluffed, providing insulation from the high-thirties temperature.  These are the first goldfinches I've seen here this spring.  The seed feeder has a roof of sorts, and they're spending the snowy afternoon chatting quietly, taking an occasional seed, fairly protected from the various downpours.
Three more newcomers have joined the duck flock, seemingly without a fluffed feather.  Mixed in with the purely mallard gang are three coots, beady red eyes trained on the human who passes out the cracked corn.  They're very wild and fly back to the center of the pond until I've disappeared around the corner.  Then they cautiously emerge on gawky long legs, walking more like chickens than water birds.  Coots have oversize greenish feet with toes that are almost fused into webs.  They're very odd looking feet, but very efficient for paddling quickly away.  Sooty black heads actually contrast with shiny black bodies in the weak sun.  And of course, there's that wine-colored eye.  Who says coots aren't beautiful?
The hellebores are in full bloom, nodding under tiny caps of snow.  My favorite, a multiple petaled lavender with frothy white center,  had a close examination by one of the mallard hens this morning. Quite delicately, she ran her bill over flowers and petals.  Her bill vibrated softly as she checked out several flowers, barely touching them but getting the information she needed.
 I held my breath, and exhaled with relief as she waddled away.  Evidently my beautiful spring flowers didn't have any food value for her.
A Townsend's warbler has been coming to the hummingbird feeder.  I guess this isn't unusual, I've read about others having warbler visitors.  He's just gorgeous, vibrant gold, black and yellow stripes and zigzags sported on a tiny body.  He perches on top of the flower part of the feeder, bends and pushes his short bill in for sugar water.  It must work - he keeps returning, keeping a weather eye on the human behind the window. 
The sun has been taken over by a big, billowing dark cloud.  Another in a series of very wet and cold storms is moving in.  The yard is quiet now, only the chickadees are still out, having a last taste of suet before they too will find shelter.  The geese are roosting across the way, bodies touching, heads tucked under wings, awaiting spring.