Tag Archives: cherry tree

Another warm morning. I realize I like...

By Dave Bonta | Published May 31, 2011 at 8:56 am

Another warm morning. I realize I like the dead cherry because it reminds me of winter. A young robin lands on a branch with its beak open.

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A light drizzle. The one green leaf...

By Dave Bonta | Published May 18, 2011 at 10:12 am

A light drizzle. The one green leaf at the end of a branch on the otherwise dead cherry shakes itself dry and turns back into a hummingbird.

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The dead cherry beside the porch is...

By Dave Bonta | Published April 11, 2011 at 9:31 am

The dead cherry beside the porch is greening up, radiant with algae. I take deep lungfuls of actinomycetes spores, that odor of earth.

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Scattered snowflakes wander back and...

By Dave Bonta | Published March 14, 2011 at 12:29 pm

Scattered snowflakes wander back and forth like lost souls. I watch one explode against a branch of the dead cherry. The croak of a raven.

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The rain has stopped; the forest cracks...

By Dave Bonta | Published February 2, 2011 at 9:16 am

The rain has stopped; the forest cracks and crashes. Fallen branches ring the dead cherry, each bearing a row of broken teeth.

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A titmouse lands in the dead cherry...

By Dave Bonta | Published January 30, 2011 at 9:40 am

A titmouse lands in the dead cherry tree, reaches into the cracked bark, pulls out a sunflower seed and taps it open, pausing twice to sing.

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A titmouse lands in the cherry, the...

By Dave Bonta | Published January 17, 2011 at 7:47 am

A titmouse lands in the cherry, the streak in his breast the same rust as a tree sparrow’s cap, a broomsedge stem, these icicles at sunrise.

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I pause at the door, coffee in hand...

By Dave Bonta | Published December 16, 2010 at 9:13 am

I pause at the door, coffee in hand: six juncos decorate the dead cherry, fat, motionless. A pileated woodpecker cackles at the wood’s edge.

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When I turn to go in, I’m struck...

By Dave Bonta | Published November 12, 2010 at 9:00 am

When I turn to go in, I’m struck by the cherry tree’s shadow, how the sun divided by the forest canopy multiplies each branch by three.

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A finger of sun infiltrates the foxtail...

By Dave Bonta | Published November 10, 2010 at 8:48 am

A finger of sun infiltrates the foxtail millet, heads turned every direction but up. Three chickadees forage in the cherry, comparing notes.

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