The Morning Porch

January 5, 2008 by Dave Bonta

There are mornings so gray that any revelation seems impossible; this is one of them. Still, the finches forage, the wren does its dance.

December 19, 2024
Overcast, but with more brightness than gloom. On the forest floor, a barely-there lacework of snow. Somewhere in between, a goldfinch’s warble.
December 19, 2023
Well below freezing, with a half-inch of snow on the ground and a wind that keeps turning the pages of my book. The sun appears…
December 19, 2021
Full moon gone in, I feel snowflakes on my face, their almost clinical touch. The sound of a train. The springhouse roof turning white.
December 19, 2020
Cloudy and cold. A cardinal perched in the lilac sings softly, barely opening his beak. The sound of a freight train laboring up the valley.
December 19, 2019
-12°C with a wind. A raven high overhead is having, by the sound of it, a splendid time. I pull a second hood over my…