The Morning Porch

December 24, 2007 by Dave Bonta

Cold and windy. A chickadee’s two-note spring song echoes off the ridge. Behind the trees, floating above the horizon, one yellow cloud.

May 17, 2025
A clearing wind. The wood thrush comes into the yard to sing as blue sky appears. The aspen I planted last year is already big enough to mime applause.
May 17, 2024
Overcast and cool. Water gurgles into the ground and gurgles out again, and half-way between, a meadow vole surfaces from the thatch, her dark fur a study in ceaseless motion.
May 17, 2023
Crystal-clear for the first time since the trees leafed out. A breeze riffles through them—shifting curtains of light and shadow.
May 17, 2022
Cool and clear as a morning in October. A catbird fresh from his bath picks insects off dogwood leaves with a fussy chirp between each morsel.
May 17, 2021
Up early enough for the last of the dawn fog and the wood pewee’s dreamy chant. Two rabbits graze side-by-side in the road.