After several dark, misty days, the sun god is out in force, filling the air with its brilliance. At first I wondered if I had a dead chicken on my hands. Not by a long shot. She’s found a warm spot in the dirt and has laid down to soak in as much of the sun’s rays as possible. She’s just dead to the world, off in dreamland, dreaming what chickens dream.

See, she’s opened an eye to peek around for a second before drifting back to sleep. With other chickens nearby preening themselves, she doesn’t have to worry about any approaching danger. They’ll alert her if she needs to make a run for it.

Chickens love the sun. One of the cruelest things you can do to a chicken is not let them spend hours outdoors in the sun.

Certified organic doesn’t mean that chickens get to spend afternoons fishing for bugs and frogs in streams. It doesn’t mean that hens get to lay eggs in quiet nests all to themselves. It certainly doesn’t mean that mothers get to spend months raising their chicks to be well behaved chickens.

This is how most certified organic chickens live, by the tens of thousands in hen houses. They don’t get to spend all day out in the sun or fog or rain, never get to hunt for frogs in streams, never get to cozy up to their mothers, and certainly never get to flirt with a randy rooster.

Spring continues to unfold. More crocuses have popped out of the ground. While looking for more signs of spring, I came across my hat I left out all night. It glistens with morning dew.

The chickens are having a field day. I’m trimming some cedars next to the house, and the chickens are fascinated with the piles of cedar branches. Something new happens, and they flock around to investigate. They never miss a thing. They should be reporters.

The day may have started with a dusting of frost on the solar panels, but the bright sun quickly melted the frost and made everything dazzle. King Richard struts his best when the sun sets his cape ablaze. He glows so brightly, few hens can resist him.

The sun is bringing the plums into bloom. Chickens love eating plum and cherry blossoms so much, I’m surprised they don’t hop into the trees to eat them. Fortunately, they wait for them to fall before they gorge on them.