Monthly Archives: March 2009

Cold and clear. Looking west, I spot...

By Dave Bonta | Published March 21, 2009 at 9:46 am

Cold and clear. Looking west, I spot a bright white dot on the far side of the field: the breast of a red-tailed hawk shining in the sun.

 

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Swirling snow, swan music, song sparrow...

By Dave Bonta | Published March 20, 2009 at 10:13 am

Swirling snow, swan music, song sparrow, the tapping of a woodpecker, a chipmunk’s tock tock tock—forget God. Is your moment big enough?

 

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Dark rain clouds without much rain...

By Dave Bonta | Published March 19, 2009 at 10:59 am

Dark rain clouds without much rain in them. The pure notes of tundra swans drift down from the immaculate tundra of the upper air.

 

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Bluebird, white-throated sparrow, a...

By Dave Bonta | Published March 18, 2009 at 9:03 am

Bluebird, white-throated sparrow, a starling’s liquid note, and high overhead, a killdeer: the sky must be blue above the fog.

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In the dim light of a misty morning...

By Dave Bonta | Published March 17, 2009 at 10:38 am

In the dim light of a misty morning, rain-slick surfaces glow: green lichens, purple raspberry canes, the yellow blades of foxtail millet.

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Flushed from hiding, the Cooper’...

By Dave Bonta | Published March 16, 2009 at 9:16 am

Flushed from hiding, the Cooper’s hawk easily eludes the crow, skimming the treetops like a wide-fletched arrow still attached to the bow.

 

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Joining the robins, titmice and song...

By Dave Bonta | Published March 15, 2009 at 9:32 am

Joining the robins, titmice and song sparrow in the dawn chorus: a barred owl. The deer grazing in the yard look up, swiveling their ears.

 

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Thin clouds at mid-morning. Four nuthatches...

By Dave Bonta | Published March 14, 2009 at 10:16 am

Thin clouds at mid-morning. Four nuthatches in the treetops are all raising the same argument, the sun a yellow limit point in their midst.

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Clear and cold at sunrise. The feral...

By Dave Bonta | Published March 13, 2009 at 7:47 am

Clear and cold at sunrise. The feral cat slinks across the springhouse meadow. Muffled sounds of a squirrel scolding from inside its drey.

 

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Back below freezing. The word breeze...

By Dave Bonta | Published March 12, 2009 at 10:13 am

Back below freezing. The word breeze no longer fits the low winds, full of bite and lightly salted with snow.

 

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