Tuesday May 11, 2010

Dave Bonta May 11, 2010

Gray squirrel in a walnut tree gnawing on a walnut, fox squirrel in a maple feasting on maple keys: one spits out shells, the other, wings.

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May 20, 2016
The warmest morning in weeks. The bracken in my yard that the deer mowed down has raised defiant fists. A red-eyed vireo drones on and on.
May 20, 2015
Cold and windy. Maple seeds spin down from the overcast sky, as if some psychotic cherub were plucking the wings from chitinous angels.
May 20, 2013
A Juvenal's duskywing butterfly comes dancing out of the woods like a small brown leaf. Zigzag ripple in the grass where a chipmunk forages.
May 20, 2012
Six nuthatches—parents and fledglings—scour the trees from top to bottom, soft calls communicating who knows what instructive tidbits.
May 20, 2011
Each glaucous leaf of the bleeding-heart has rolled its rain into one fat bead. I'm wondering: where have all the wood thrushes gone?
May 20, 2010
So clear, even the mourning dove sounds joyful. Muffled thuds of a pileated in a dead tree, knocking—as Rumi would say—from the inside.
May 20, 2009
A new birdsong at sunrise: "Pleased pleased pleased to MEETcha!" Likewise, I mutter, trying to place the name. Ah—chestnut-sided warbler.
May 20, 2008
A gray squirrel seems to be in heat: as in January, the slow-motion chases, the soft scold-calls, but now mostly hidden by the leaves.

The Morning Porch/Patio