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Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow

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  • Wednesday December 02, 2009

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.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged bull thistle, mountain laurel
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On this date

    December 1, 2021

    The first day of meteorological winter. It's warm. I-99 is barely audible. The sound of teeth on walnut shell alternates with scold-calls. …

    December 1, 2020

    Gray snow clouds with a brief peephole for the sun. As flakes swirl down, snowbirds swirl up into the trees, egged on by a Carolina wren. …

    December 1, 2019

    After hours of rain, woods and meadow are shrink-wrapped in ice. The black birch twigs creak as chickadees land to liberate a few seeds. …

    December 1, 2018

    Sky heavy with weather. In the woods, more bare ground than snow. Brightness persists only in scarlet barberries and the fresh green moss. …

    December 1, 2017

    The hillside glistens with last night's rain, fallen leaves cupping thousands of thumbnail-sized puddles too cold for slugs. …

    December 1, 2016

    The sky keeps clouding over and clearing, like a person who can't make up their mind. High winds roar in the ridgetop trees. …

    December 1, 2015

    Dear friends, I am migrating north and 3000 miles east for the winter. I will be back at the beginning of March, Lord willing and the creek don't rise. Thanks for reading, and remember, if you miss your Morning Porch fix, you can always stop by and check out the previous years' entries in the sidebar. Have a great winter.

    December 1, 2015

    Cold rain. A song sparrow sings sotto voce from beside the stream. In the front garden, one last, late blossom glimmers on the witch hazel. …

    December 1, 2014

    Warm and overcast. It's the first day of deer season, and the silence seems charged. The sun appears for three seconds. A blue jay calls. …

    December 1, 2013

    A rattling rain of ice from the pear tree out back where a squirrel forages. Bird tracks in the snow below the porch end with wing-prints. …

    December 1, 2012

    A black walnut crosses the yard, powered by the usual gray squirrel propulsion and planting system. A close rifle shot echoes off the ridge. …

    December 1, 2011

    Chickadee and nuthatch alarms are ringing over something in the tall weeds. A squirrel pauses beside the porch to scratch its ear. …

    December 1, 2010

    Just as I take my seat the sleet starts. Pellets the size of fish eyes lodge in the folds of my coat. The brown ground turns a glassy white. …

    December 1, 2009

    A small band of clear sky in the west, persisting for over an hour, gives the woods and meadow a feverish glow. The sound of the wind. …

    December 1, 2008

    A half-hour before dawn, the stars begin to lose their luster—always a more melancholy thing than a sunset to me. The wind picks up. …

    December 1, 2007

    Scarlet oak leaf: blown sideways, it still manages to get a few spirals in. Bluejay: it takes me a second to recognize its solitary note. …

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Related book

Cover of Ice Mountain with a linocut of a big ridgetop tree.

What I do after I sit on the porch. One winter and spring's daily walks distilled into short poems with linocut illustrations by Beth Adams.

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