Monday March 09, 2009

Dave Bonta March 9, 2009

A rapid whistling of wings: a woodcock hurtles through the yard at eye-level. Thank you, Congress, for giving back our slow, dark mornings.

Previous Post: Previous Post

Next Post: Next Post

September 18, 2017
Foggy and still, save for the occasional crash-down of a black walnut. The dog I'm sitting noses through the long grass, inhaling deeply.
September 18, 2016
Too dark to identify the small birds darting through the forest canopy. A walnut dislodged by a squirrel thumps hard against the ground.
September 18, 2015
The rising sun illuminates old spiderwebs in the eaves, littered with insect body parts. Below, the flamboyant bones of dame's-rocket.
September 18, 2014
A black ichneumon wasp climbs the white porch column, wings twitching like an ill-fitting suit. The lawnmower sound of a propeller plane.
September 18, 2013
Loud wingbeats as the shadow of a raven crosses the yard. A buck gingerly lowers his antlered head to the stream.
September 18, 2012
1:15 a.m. Thinking there's something chewing on the leaves outside my window, I get the flashlight and discover rain. Time for bed.
September 18, 2011
A morning so clear, the half moon looks close enough to touch. A squirrel still spooked by some long-gone predator has yelled itself hoarse.
September 18, 2010
The valleys must be brimming over with fog. Clouds rise behind both ridges, but it's blue overhead: a white-bread sandwich filled with sky.
September 18, 2009
One of the autumn grasses beloved of Basho blooms an alien red at the edge of the yard. Sudden jumbled music from a V of non-migrant geese.
September 18, 2008
In the pre-dawn dark, a patch of moonlight appears for a few seconds on the end of the porch. A cricket's one-string fiddle, slow and thin.

The Morning Porch/Patio

The view from my front porch (in Pennsylvania) or back patio (in London) every morning, in 140 or fewer characters

Monday March 09, 2009