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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August 20, 2016
Cool and quiet. A ray of sun pierces the forest canopy and falls on a clump of goldenrod in the meadow that's just beginning to turn gold.
August 20, 2014
Overcast and humid. A Carolina wren trills in short bursts, as if in imitation of the crickets creaking in the long grass.
August 20, 2013
It's humid; everything drips. Goldfinches warble in the treetops. A rabbit's ear twitches, illuminated by the rising sun.
August 20, 2012
9:40. The strange, pipe organ-like moan of a steam locomotive blowing the Plummer's Hollow crossing raises the hair on the back of my neck.
August 20, 2011
A catbird scolds a feral cat: harsh, descending Nos. Slick with dew, the lanceolate leaves of goldenrod shimmer in the sun like green fish.
August 20, 2010
The tall goldenrod's budding tops continue to expand, extending new arms. I find a penny in my pocket and fling it at the hornets' nest.
August 20, 2009
The fog reveals as much as it hides. Who knew the trees held so many spiderwebs? The birds are mostly quiet now; it's cricket spring.
August 20, 2008
In the wild black cherry limb that hangs over the entrance to the trail up the ridge, red clumps of stems, a squirrel getting its breakfast.

The Morning Porch/Patio