The Morning Porch

April 11, 2009 by Dave Bonta

In the cold rain, a pair of phoebes sit on a branch of the lilac overhanging my sidewalk, flicking their tails and gazing at the portico.

June 7, 2025
Rain at sunrise. A flower longhorn beetle takes refuge under the porch, landing beside my mug. The crash of a falling limb.
June 7, 2024
A commotion of gray squirrels in the spicebush next to the springhouse, where one seems to be in estrus-induced discomfort, and five others are there to help out.
June 7, 2023
Clear—or what passes for it these days—and cold. The black digger wasp I last saw at dusk hasn’t moved from her spot on the porch column.
June 7, 2022
Overcast. Random knocks from an unseen woodpecker. A white-breasted nuthatch’s nervous call punctuates a wood pewee’s song.
June 7, 2021
Gray sky gravid with bad weather. On either side of the road, the tall grass trembles: foraging chipmunks.