The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta November 5, 2010 3

The wind rustles in the crown of one red oak; all the others are still. A train whistle. The light patches in the clouds fade to blue.

3 Comments

James
14 years ago Permalink

Congratulations. Happy Blog Birthday.
Deb
14 years ago Permalink

Happy BBirthday. It’s been a pleasure to read.

And a (daresay “the”) wonderful entry to micropoetry.
Dave Bonta
14 years ago Permalink

Thanks, guys! Awfully glad you’re still reading.

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