Monthly Archives: August 2008

5:00 am; the stars are bright….

By Dave Bonta | Published August 31, 2008 at 8:34 am

5:00 am; the stars are bright. Orion straddles the ridge, and as I watch, a meteor streaks from his belt. A small, dark moth circles my face.

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Out of the darkness and fog before...

By Dave Bonta | Published August 30, 2008 at 7:49 am

Out of the darkness and fog before dawn, a sudden yelp. Only when it moves farther off am I able to place it: a raccoon. The newest tenant.

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Rain and fog. Nuthatches, a wood pewee...

By Dave Bonta | Published August 29, 2008 at 9:20 am

Rain and fog. Nuthatches, a wood pewee, the liquid song of a winter wren. Behind me, loud thumps from some large animal under the house.

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Steady drizzle after three weeks of...

By Dave Bonta | Published August 28, 2008 at 8:41 am

Steady drizzle after three weeks of drought. The quiet, continuous insect trill in the grass sounds the way I feel—however that may be.

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Carolina wrens counter-singing from...

By Dave Bonta | Published August 27, 2008 at 8:17 am

Carolina wrens counter-singing from the springhouse, her Zzzzit! simultaneous with his TeakettleTeakettleTeakettle: the sound of the steam.

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The hollow sound of claws on loose...

By Dave Bonta | Published August 26, 2008 at 8:00 am

The hollow sound of claws on loose bark: another furious squirrel chase, this time in the dead elm. The chaser pauses to lick its genitals.

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Rising late, I see the sun has arrived...

By Dave Bonta | Published August 25, 2008 at 9:34 am

Rising late, I see the sun has arrived before me, burning through the haze, striping the wet woods with glistening paths, warming my seat.

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A squirrel in a black walnut tree drops...

By Dave Bonta | Published August 24, 2008 at 8:39 am

A squirrel in a black walnut tree drops four nuts in a row. Clumsiness? Sabotage? Another squirrel comes running, and a noisy chase ensues.

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Cool and humid. Up in the woods, two...

By Dave Bonta | Published August 23, 2008 at 8:41 am

Cool and humid. Up in the woods, two chipmunks start a border dispute, ticking in sync like bombs set to go off at the same moment.

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The air is still and quiet. In the...

By Dave Bonta | Published August 22, 2008 at 7:33 am

The air is still and quiet. In the springhouse meadow, the ears of a doe appear above the goldenrod, pivoting like leaves in a private wind.

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