Thursday February 26, 2009

Dave Bonta February 26, 2009

I keep hearing fragments of song—winter wren, bluebird, song sparrow—and the usual tight flock of siskins in a walnut tree going zzzzzzip.

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Snow mixed with sleet. The feral balloons have wrapped themselves more tightly around their tree—a classic trade of freedom for security. …

On the first morning of my married life, the sky is as blue as it gets. Phoebe, rooster, bluebird. The sparkle of frost gives way to sheen. …

The sound of steady rain unmediated by leaves. Civilization is reduced to a distant rumble. Tree trunks break out in patches of lichen. …

Mild and overcast. A ladybug flies by, red elytra raised like the doors on a DeLorean. A red-tailed hawk glides low through the treetops. …

Two A-10 aircraft roar over; I get a glimpse of the nearer one through the trees. A dove flees on whistling wings. A vulture keeps circling. …

On a bright morning, I can almost forget how many of the laurel bushes shining in the sun are sick and dying. A titmouse's monotonous call. …

Where yesterday the hillside was mostly white, now it's mostly brown, and the dawn chorus is twice as loud with the addition of one robin. …

Thin fog. A yearling fawn play-mounts his mother, and is mounted in turn by his twin. A robin tut-tut-tuts from the driveway. …

Three inches of sticky snow have turned the trees white and intricate, with many moving parts: sparrows, robins, a blackbird's creak. …

Clear, clear, clear: say the same thing often enough, the cardinal knows, and one day you'll be right. The east is red with maple blossoms. …

Sunny and cold. My mother starts up the trail into the woods with her pant-legs tucked into her socks against the plague of deer ticks. …

Dad reports that when he went outside around 8:00, a gray fox was sitting in the driveway. They watched each other for more than a minute. …

The Morning Porch/Patio