The Morning Porch

December 27, 2011 by Dave Bonta

Sleet rattles on roof and garden, yard and road, weeds and woods, like seasoning from some indiscriminate eater of a bare-bones feast.

5 thoughts on “”

JMartin

December 27, 2011 at 2:12 pm

When all that’s left of bear is bones,
the salt must turn to sleet.
———-

Wonderful, and reason to wonder: TMP book in 2012?
- Dave Bonta
  
  December 27, 2011 at 3:35 pm
  
  Thanks, Julie. I haven’t given a book a whole lot of thought yet, but I guess it would be nice to have something to mark the first five years of TMP next November. (By the same token, I should try and bring out a Via Negativa reader in time for the tenth anniversaryof the founding of VN, in 2013.)
  - lucychili
    
    December 28, 2011 at 6:21 am
    
    that sounds a lovely idea
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Libby

December 28, 2011 at 10:12 am

Wonderful – I can see a giant with a salt shaker!

Comments are closed.

June 14, 2025
Rain at dawn tapering off into another patter alongside the red-eyed vireo’s. Wood thrushes sing back and forth. From deep in the lilac, a house finch lets loose.
June 14, 2024
Overcast at sunrise. The jumping spider who lives under my chair comes topside for a brief scuttle about. A red-bellied woodpecker bangs on his morning drum.
June 14, 2023
The rains continue. The last peony blossom collapsed in the night, and the last purple iris has opened. Where mowed grass had died, there’s a blush of green.
June 14, 2022
Rain thickens into downpour, but a very small moth continues to fly back and forth. The evening primroses remain half closed.
June 14, 2020
If the sun isn’t going to shine, we still have the irises, the evening primroses, and a goldfinch fresh from his bath: a trifecta of yellow.