Wednesday December 02, 2009

Dave Bonta December 2, 2009

Cold, gray morning. I inventory the remaining spots of green: moss, grass, mountain laurel, pine, a rosette of thistle outlined in frost.

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Steady downpour; almost as much water in the road as in the creek. Scattered, flattened stalks in the rain-dark yard are white with mold. …

‪Warm and still. Out of the corner of my eye, a pileated woodpecker slipping behind a tree. Distant howl of a train car's misaligned wheels.‬ …

Open water in the ditch. Juncos fly down to drink then up to perch in the snow-laden branches of a dogwood, shaking themselves like dogs. …

Snow-melt dripping off the roof forms a glistening bead curtain, blown sideways by the breeze, rattling on the tin roof over the oil tanks. …

A rattle of sleet gives way to the hush of snow, then the tapping of freezing rain, then back to snow. A squirrel never stops its scolding. …

Dawn. Three deer become two, become three again. The sound of squirrel teeth on black walnut shell—that harsh madman's whisper. …

Six inches of fresh powder. A pair of squirrels wrestle in it, then go up the big maple, couple on the trunk, and retreat to separate limbs. …

That metronome-like sound—could it possibly be a chipmunk? I cup hands to my ears: no, it's just slow meltwater. But the clock is ticking. …

White sky. The soft calls of a pair of downy woodpeckers on adjacent trees. Four chickadees on a high-speed chase tear through the lilac. …

Siren, train whistle, a red-bellied woodpecker ululating in the yard. It's snowing. Squirrel tracks cross the porch in front of my chair. …

The Morning Porch/Patio