The Morning Porch

November 21, 2010 by Dave Bonta

A quiet Sunday morning, frost like a pall, and a pair of nuthatches in querulous dialogue about—who knows?—the taste of frozen bugs.

1 thought on “”

Comments are closed.

July 3, 2025
Out at dawn for the cardinal’s opening salvo and a mosquito nuzzling my neck. The twittering of goldfinches. An east-bound freight blows its horn.
July 3, 2024
A deer moves through the sunrise meadow, head and ears visible above the weeds. The furious chittering of a small flock of goldfinches swirling past.
July 3, 2023
Back from the city, wondering how everything could have gotten so much greener and more lush in just four days. The sun comes out. Leaves glisten like wet tongues.
July 3, 2022
Overcast at sunrise. The woodpeckers’ percussive breakfasts. A mosquito wanders over my propped-up feet.
July 3, 2021
On a dark and cloudy morning, the green of the woods’ edge seems even more intense. The scarlet tanager sounds hoarse with longing.