The Morning Porch

November 9, 2010 by Dave Bonta

Two squirrels from the gray woods drop into the lilac and leap from branch to branch, disappearing for long moments into its freakish green.

November 9, 2025
Thick fog. When the wren stops singing, there’s dead silence for several minutes until a nuthatch calls. From father away, the death-cry of a rabbit.
November 9, 2024
One degree above freezing and very still. The sun’s slow climb through bare branches. The sound of gnawing rodent teeth in three directions.
November 9, 2023
it starts raining just as I come out on the porch, completing the November trinity: cold, gray, and wet. Goldfinch chatter. The keening of truck tires on the interstate.
November 9, 2022
Clear and cold. With the power out, morning is a logistical challenge, but when I have the time to sit, the sparrows are singing as usual.
November 9, 2021
Dawn silence. A distant Carolina wren. I'm standing outside in my PJs enjoying the relative warmth (38F) when I spot the first cloud in days.