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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Cloudy and cool. Raised voices over the wall—"You always undercut me!" "You don't even love me!"—drowned out by a jet on its final …

High in the trees, a small cloud of gnats yoyoing up and down, backlit by the sun, while an itch grows on my hand where a mosquito drills. …

The wild black currants are succumbing to their usual wilt—an extra shadow eating them from the inside as the stream gurgles between them. …

A deer leaps and twists in the tall grass to elude a fly, his damp pelt pale as a salmon, hoarse breathing just audible above the rain. …

A rare-for-summer inversion layer: throaty jake-break and tire whine, you sound like winter, that discordant note running under our lives. …

Rain like a drunk at a broken piano whose green keys all play the same note. The hornets still hide their hoard in a gray paper sack. …

A bluebird warbles in the darkness. Eyelids heavy with hours of missing sleep, I squint into the spreading stain of light. …

A bat lands on the inside end of the porch—right above the moon from where I sit—and crawls rapidly on its elbows toward the nearest crack. …

The Morning Porch/Patio