12/27/2011

Dave Bonta December 27, 2011 5

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

5 Comments

JMartin
13 years ago Permalink

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

Wonderful, and reason to wonder: TMP book in 2012?
1. Dave Bonta
  13 years ago Permalink
  
  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.)
  1. lucychili
    13 years ago Permalink
    
    that sounds a lovely idea
En Crépinette | Via Negativa
13 years ago Permalink
Libby
13 years ago Permalink

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

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12/27/2011

September 14, 2023
Half an hour before sunrise, the goldenrod is already aglow. Venus and Jupiter fade into a cloudless sky. Towhees begin to tweet.
12/27/2011

September 14, 2021
Fifteen minutes before sunrise, thin fog appears and disappears. A few wood thrush notes. A chestnut-sided warbler’s “Pleased to meetcha!”
12/27/2011

September 14, 2018
The dampness thickens into drizzle. Its soundtrack: the unending trill of tree crickets. The forest begins to glisten like a salamander.
12/27/2011

September 14, 2017
Small birds flit through the tops of the locust trees—migrating warblers, no doubt. Birds of passage. Every now and then the cricket pauses.
12/27/2011

September 14, 2016
When I finally pay attention, what do I see? Just gnats orbiting an apparently arbitrary point in the middle of the yard. Just their wings.
12/27/2011

September 14, 2015
Oaks sway in the wind, their leaves gleaming in the strong sunlight. Acorns rattle down. A snatch of migrant birdsong I can’t quite place.
12/27/2011

September 14, 2014
A cold morning. Two chipmunks calling 100 yards apart fall in and out of sync. Thin clouds block the sun before it ever reaches the…
12/27/2011

September 14, 2013
What insect-eater flutters above the canopy of an oak? Too far away to tell. I love the way birds can dance without moving their feet.
12/27/2011

September 14, 2012
We don’t hear much from the highway these days. What I hear: Canada geese off to the north, a train whistle, two kinds of crickets.
12/27/2011

September 14, 2011
Many of the asters that shut their purple lashes for the night have yet to open, frustrating a honeybee. A squat native bee pushes right…

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The Morning Porch

Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow

12/27/2011

5 Comments