Monday April 22, 2013

Dave Bonta April 22, 2013

The hammer-blows of a pileated woodpecker opening up an oak. Peonies are sprouting in the garden, an infant’s pink, half-open fists.

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August 22, 2016
A wren calls from the cattails like a deranged cheerleader, while in the woods, a vireo sounds as if it's barely able to give a damn.
August 22, 2015
Even at late morning, it's chilly when the sun goes in. The yard is now white with snakeroot flowers. The distant sound of a power saw.
August 22, 2014
A trembling in the cattails: female yellowthroat. Birds flit through the treetops, smaller than the motes of grit in my ancient binoculars.
August 22, 2013
Weeding the garden is never dull. Yesterday morning a milk snake writhed around my wrist; today, hornets boil up and sting my hand.
August 22, 2012
Sunbeams through the fog. The thin bull thistle beside the road with its one purple head sways ever so slightly into and out of the light.
August 22, 2011
A plane drags its cross-shaped shadow over the ridge, loud as an evangelist. A few clouds. Half a moon abandoned in the center of the sky.
August 22, 2010
A blue-gray gnatcatcher drops into the dead cherry and begins to forage, singing its small hoarse note. Beads of rain wobble but don't fall.
August 22, 2009
Below the porch, a generic chirp from a warbler of indeterminate species. I remember the Central American term for such skulkers: chipes.
August 22, 2008
The air is still and quiet. In the springhouse meadow, the ears of a doe appear above the goldenrod, pivoting like leaves in a private wind.

The Morning Porch/Patio