The Morning Porch

August 10, 2012 by Dave Bonta

A shimmer of rain. One of the lower branches on the big tulip tree has been stripped of bark, but its leaves haven’t gotten the news.

2 thoughts on “”

Dave Bonta

August 10, 2012 at 9:40 am

(Porcupine? Deer standing on its hind legs? Could be either one.)
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December 2, 2024
Overcast and cold. Ten minutes before sunrise, a yellow rent appears in the clouds. In the distance, the neighbor’s chickens start up a racket.
December 2, 2023
Fog hides the sunrise, apart from a small opening on the ridgetop that fills with golden light. Then the gray curtain comes down again.
December 2, 2022
The frosted meadow glitters in the sun. A scrabbling of squirrel claws on bark. Off to the south, a raven croaks; to the north, crows.
December 2, 2021
It’s damp and warmish. A red-bellied woodpecker comes silently rocketing out of the woods. The creek remains mum about last night’s rain.
December 2, 2020
Raw and wintry, with snow on the ground and an iron wind. I muse on the convergent evolution of “December” and “dismember”.