The Morning Porch

April 10, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Twenty minutes after the feral cat disappeared under the porch, the squirrel still scolds. Rain is a soft patter of lead shot—or so I wish.

July 7, 2025
The plaintive cries of what sounds like a fledgling crow up in the woods accompany the awkward sorties of a fledgling phoebe, beak snapping on a missed insect. Blue sky appears.
July 7, 2024
Clear and blessedly cool as sunlight floods the treetops. A distant siren. The incessant chatter of goldfinches.
July 7, 2023
A foggy sunrise. The catbird circles the house, mimicking the Carolina wren on double speed.
July 7, 2022
Clear sky, sun in the treetops… “Cloudy conditions will continue all day,” my phone admonishes. The big tulip tree releases a yellow leaf.
July 7, 2021
The dawn chorus is full of silences now. My leg and I are playing another exciting game of Name that Rash: Chiggers? Poison ivy? No-see-ums?