The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta July 29, 2011 2

This morning it hits me: how silent the woods have become now with most of the migrants done singing their fierce but temporary attachments.

2 Comments

Migrant Letters
14 years ago Permalink
Albert B. Casuga
14 years ago Permalink

“Silence” is my poem response to this Morning Porch prompt, and reposted in:
http://ambitsgambit.blogspot.com/2011/07/silence.html

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January 30, 2024
Overcast and quiet except for the watery chorus. A chipmunk dashes across a patch of snow and disappears under the house.
January 30, 2023
The snowpack is holey again. A sunrise sky is visible through the trees on the ridgetop for just a few minutes until the fog descends.
January 30, 2022
Very cold and still. Just when I think the birds will never wake, the clouds redden a little and a nuthatch fires up its querulous…
January 30, 2021
Amorous squeaks of squirrels. A small fissure in the clouds approaches the sun and the frozen landscape brightens for half a minute.
January 30, 2020
As slowly as the sky cleared yesterday morning, today it returns to white, like the growing blankness in my memory where some face had been.