The Morning Porch

July 29, 2011 by Dave Bonta

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

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December 10, 2024
Damp and unseasonably warm. The sky brightens toward mid-morning, and the hillside’s coat of wet oak leaves begins to shine.
December 10, 2023
Steady rain—a gloomy sunrise. The big dead maple next to the road has the palest bark, its faces gone blank as masks.
December 10, 2022
The moon is still bright but the sky has begun to turn blue. Up on the ridge, something barks twice, then falls silent.
December 10, 2021
Finches cluster high in a black birch, gorging in silence. A squirrel digs up a walnut and re-buries it on the other side of the…
December 10, 2020
Heavy cloud cover. A flash of red from a male cardinal cutting through the yard. Gray heads of goldenrod almost shine in the gloom.