9/3/2013

Dave Bonta September 3, 2013 1

A wood pewee calls from the edge of the meadow. The air has turned autumnal. The sun comes out and doubles the number of yellow leaves.

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9/3/2013

September 12, 2023
The old moon is now mostly ember, clasped by a thin crescent no brighter than nearby Venus. The loud highway noise from the west that…
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Fog rising into the treetops. The garden chipmunk keeps me company, sitting on the end of the wall, scratching his belly.
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September 12, 2017
Awakened at first light by a whip-poor-will, I find my lost hat and sit outside watching a white cat hunt at the edge of the…
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September 12, 2016
Cold and quiet, with a sky almost as blue as the jays in the treetops. One of them keeps making a rattling sound, as if…
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September 12, 2015
Cold, all-morning rain. Tall goldenrod stalks bow their shaggy heads. From up on the ridge, the nasal calls of blue jays.
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September 12, 2014
Just as the early goldenrod fades, the late begins to bloom. At the wood’s edge, the tulip poplar is having a conversation with itself.
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September 12, 2013
In the weak sunlight, only leaves at just the right angle glisten, dully, like the eyes of dead fish. A cicada calls twice and falls…
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A squirrel creeps up to the flicker hole in the dead elm, but another squirrel pops out chittering and gives chase through the treetops.

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The Morning Porch

Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow

9/3/2013

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