The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta November 6, 2010 2

Almost light, and a screech owl still calls from down in the hollow—that sepulchral whinny. One croak of a crow stops it cold.

2 Comments

Dick
14 years ago Permalink

‘Sepulchral whinny’ – perfect. And I like the image of the crow declaring the nocturnal owl off limits.
1. Dave Bonta
  14 years ago Permalink
  
  Thanks, Dick. I’m kind of pleased with that phrase myself.

Comments are closed.

Previous Post: Previous Post

Next Post: Next Post

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…