The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta May 31, 2010

Peonies are to death what roses are to love. After this afternoon’s predicted storms I’m sure they’ll all be bowed, poor thornless things.

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November 22, 2023
Wet and overcast at sunrise. The forest floor with its carpet of leaves almost glows for a minute or two before subsiding into ordinary brown.
November 22, 2022
One last meteor leaves a faint streak in the dawn sky. That dark disc rising through the trees has a shining husk—the old moon.
November 22, 2021
Tundra swans just below the clouds heading east over the house, their ethereal flutes. Three minutes later, a south-bound flock of geese.
November 22, 2020
Cold, gray, and damp: a classic November day. Sunday gunshots from over the ridge that could mean the death of a crow, fox, coyote or…
November 22, 2019
After a windy night, the whole horizon is visible beyond the trees. I watch one of the last oak leaves float down, rocking, taking its…