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.

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The new snowpack turns blindingly bright as the high, spring sun beats down. Icicles drop on to the porch roof with muffled thuds. …

Bright sun, bitter wind. With the snow almost gone, the neighbors' chickens must be out of their coop: the rooster crows and crows. …

Before sunrise, I'm fascinated by the yard's labyrinth of dead grass, that tangled thatch. A robin warbles for a while and falls silent. …

Sunny and cold. The snow lingers like a guilty conscience. A squirrel climbs the dead elm, enters the old nest hole and sits peering out. …

Thinking the phoebes should be back, I cup hands to ears: nothing. 20 minutes later, one rounds the house and flutters in front of my face. …

A new half-inch of snow; I have to brush off my chair before I sit. The sun behind snow clouds is a white blear, a bear, a blinding tooth. …

Wind riffles the wild onion tops sprouting from a crack in the walk. Down at the end of the old corral, the pussy willow's in bloom. …

A turkey gobbles up in the corner of the field, and five seconds later, a turkey vulture soars into view. The sky is an implacable white. …

Rain from what must be thin clouds. The sunrise glow lights up a deer at the wood's edge, bright as litter against the brown leaves. …

Over the clang of church bells, the ethereal cries of wild swans: a huge high V off to the north. Sorry, folks. G-d has left the building. …

Five inches of fresh snow, the kind that clings to every twig. I catch a movement up in the woods: a deer raises its tail to take a shit. …

The Morning Porch/Patio