Tuesday August 21, 2012

Dave Bonta August 21, 2012

Tent caterpillar webs billow, white as sails—still full of the dawn fog. Two nuthatches kvetch back and forth at the woods’ edge.

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The cold rain continues, now misting, now pouring. Beds of moss in the woods begin to look luxurious. Everywhere the sound of running water. …

‪So many chipmunks are racing about at the woods' edge that after watching them for a while, I begin to feel itchy. A crow clears its throat.‬ …

Bright and cold. Gusts of wind sweep the snow off branches—ghosts among the trees. A jet's vestigial contrail briefly underlines the sun. …

In the silence after the bulldozer stops, a song sparrow sings his lying spring song over and over. A gauze of stratus cloud dims the sun. …

The Carolina wren doesn't rise till 9:23. He hops out from under the house, flutters up to the porch and flies into the lilac to sing. …

A killdeer's song drifts down from high overhead, and to the south, the piping of a ragged flock of geese struggling against the high winds. …

Backlit by the sun, a hoarfrosted forest with ice still glittering underneath. I gape and run for my camera, a tourist on my own porch. …

Thick fog prolongs the early-morning light for hours. The cardinal sings spring while a screech owl quavers over the luminous snow. …

Sun shining through thin clouds and wind-blown snow. A great wave of happiness sweeps past. In the barberry bush, a cardinal begins to sing. …

After three months of being written about daily, the world glimpsed from my porch seems more recondite than ever. Slow diatoms of snow. …

The Morning Porch/Patio