Friday December 05, 2008

Dave Bonta December 5, 2008

Juncos gather on the gravel driveway, replenishing their gizzards with grit. Up and down the big maple, it’s squirrel kabuki, love and war.

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Cool and clear. The witch hazel in front of the living room window, which I haven't gotten around to pruning out, is already turning gold. …

Overcast and still, with the smell of rain. A migrant red-breasted nuthatch dives at my head and lands between the spandrels to scold. …

Two red-bellied woodpeckers locked in combat tumble out of a locust tree in the yard. Later, two squirrels angrily chase up and down it. …

The asters in my garden are finally opening, purple and gold above new, green growth, the lower leaves all dead from the summer's drought. …

The wind is out of the east, and, slight as it is, carries an acrid, chemical smell from the sewage plant and the quarry's dull roar. …

Well after sunrise, a screech owl trilling like the god of tree crickets. I notice that the barberry above the creek is livid with fruit. …

The clouds thicken, gravid with rain. A squirrel climbing the walnut tree next to the road pauses on the first limb to lick its genitals. …

The walnut tree behind the house keeps knocking on my bedroom roof with its fat green fists. I start thinking fondly of the chainsaw. …

A low cloud ceiling imposes gloom and silence, save for the closest chirps. A nuthatch, normally querulous, sounds downright neurotic. …

I finally realize what sage leaves remind me of, rough with papillae, moist with dew: but for the gray-green color, they could be tongues. …

I dream of giant salamanders and wake to a pair of red-tailed hawks on the tree limb closest to the porch, heads pivoting like gun turrets. …

In the pre-dawn, Sunday-morning silence, the distant bellowing of a cow. A half moon glows through the fog — a thin milk. …

The Morning Porch