The Morning Porch

December 27, 2008 by Dave Bonta

In the darkness and fog, the sound of slush being punctured and scraped aside. I can just make out the solid shadows, their many thin legs.

October 30, 2025
Hard rain easing off by mid-morning. The sky brightens. A junco by the springhouse warbles its most complex song.
October 30, 2024
Dawn. High in a red oak crown an acorn lets go, tapping the branches on its way down like a blind man’s cane.
October 30, 2022
Late in rising, I’m grateful to the oaks for still holding leaves—I don’t need sunglasses. My brother texts: Savannah sparrows in the field!
October 30, 2021
Fog. A squirrel is peeling ribbons of bark from the branches of the big tulip tree. And all these years I’ve been blaming porcupines!
October 30, 2020
Five minutes after I check the weather app to verify it’s going to stay cloudy, the sun comes out. The damp forest glistens like a salamander.