Tag Archives: sunrise

Goldfinches twitter in the tops of...

By Dave Bonta | Published July 10, 2011 at 9:46 am

Goldfinches twitter in the tops of the locusts at sunrise, bright as beacons. A yellow hoverfly watches me from four inches away.

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Sunrise stains the western ridge. A...

By Dave Bonta | Published February 15, 2011 at 8:41 am

Sunrise stains the western ridge. A squirrel wanders back and forth on an icy snowbank, stirred, no doubt, by the memory of a buried nut.

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Bitter cold at sunrise. A distant F...

By Dave Bonta | Published February 10, 2011 at 10:04 am

Bitter cold at sunrise. A distant F-16: that high, harsh sound of something being torn. A few small clouds hurry off toward the sun.

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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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In the still air, a small disk of ash...

By Dave Bonta | Published January 6, 2011 at 8:38 am

In the still air, a small disk of ash falls spinning like a demonic snowflake. The sun smolders on the ridgetop between columns of oaks.

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Gray sky thin as an eyelid for the...

By Dave Bonta | Published January 1, 2011 at 8:28 am

Gray sky thin as an eyelid for the sun’s approximate blaze. The distant gargles of an 18-wheeler jake-breaking into town set off the crows.

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Feathery contrails outline a wedge...

By Dave Bonta | Published December 29, 2010 at 8:21 am

Feathery contrails outline a wedge of blue. On a high branch, three mourning doves sit facing the sunrise. The middle one preens its wings.

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Solstice sunrise turns the western...

By Dave Bonta | Published December 21, 2010 at 8:03 am

Solstice sunrise turns the western ridge red as an altar. A brown creeper fishes in all the dark valleys of the walnut tree’s bark.

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I arrive on the porch at the same time...

By Dave Bonta | Published November 28, 2010 at 8:47 am

I arrive on the porch at the same time as the sun: the first blazing quills top the ridge and a sneeze begins to prickle behind my nose.

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Five below zero Celcius at sunrise....

By Dave Bonta | Published November 2, 2010 at 8:28 am

Five below zero Celcius at sunrise. A single kinglet flutters in the birch—its whispery chirps. The fourth-quarter moon’s thin grin.

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