6/26/2011

Dave Bonta June 26, 2011 4

Two half-grown rabbits grazing side-by-side on sallow, middle-of-the-road grass dash off in opposite directions. A daylily’s orange cone.

4 Comments

Grenadilla
13 years ago Permalink
marly youmans
13 years ago Permalink

My dear Dave,

Lovely, but I really must protest. An orange cone in the state of Pennsylvania must mean but one thing!
The Modesto Kid
13 years ago Permalink

Two half-baked, crazy rabbits running blindly into an electric pastoral imagination
1. Luisa Igloria
  13 years ago Permalink
  
  I was kind of tempted to write that kind of poem… :)

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6/26/2011

September 20, 2023
Clearing enough by 8:00 for the sun to nest in the treetops. Highway noise subsides, giving way to the knocks and clatter of falling walnuts…
6/26/2011

September 20, 2022
A clear dawn sky, with the crescent moon like Orion’s boomerang just missing Castor and Pollux. The widely scattered chirps of migrating birds.
6/26/2011

September 20, 2021
Spring peeper just after moonset. Then whippoorwill. Wood thrush. Carolina wren. Phoebe. A pileated woodpecker cackles and it’s day.
6/26/2011

September 20, 2020
The dial thermometer’s red arrow has just missed 0°C. A black tiger moth caterpillar is curled by the stoop like a dropped comma.
6/26/2011

September 20, 2018
The laboring motor in the septic service truck, pumping out our tanks—I try to hear anything else. The Carolina wren. An electric drill.
6/26/2011

September 20, 2017
Crystal-clear sky crossed by flocks of goldfinches. Church bells clang the 8 o’clock hour, a sad exultation that once meant time for school.
6/26/2011

September 20, 2016
The sun moves through the foggy woods like a spider at the center of her web. The hollow tocks of chipmunks up and down the…
6/26/2011

September 20, 2015
Clear and cold after last night’s showers. In the garden, the asters are all pinched shut like collapsed eyes with long, purple lashes.
6/26/2011

September 20, 2014
The clack of acorns hitting branches on their way to the ground. I’m beating myself up trying to kill a mosquito reconnoitering my torso.
6/26/2011

September 20, 2013
The thin fog turns blue before disappearing. At the woods’ edge, ants rise on filmy wings like a curl of smoke.

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The Morning Porch

Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow

6/26/2011

4 Comments