Sunday September 15, 2013

Dave Bonta September 15, 2013

Cold at sunrise. A pileated woodpecker hitches up the trunk of tall locust, pausing to yell when he reaches the sunlit crown.

Previous Post: Previous Post

Next Post: Next Post

The garden is alive with wrens: four fat fledglings begging as their parents hop about, combing every leaf for morsels, but pausing to sing. …

Rain. A red-spotted purple lands on the top rail and spreads its dark wings like a damp umbrella. A jumping spider shelters under my foot. …

Cloudy and cold. The catbird sings in his inside voice, while over at the neighbors', a hen announces her latest masterpiece at top volume. …

While the male chickadee calls from the end of a walnut branch, his mate combs the leaves for caterpillars, hovering, hanging upside-down. …

Against the sky criss-crossed by contrails, the sudden whiskers of a squirrel peering over the roof's edge, fixing me in a bug-eyed stare. …

A chipping sparrow's rattle, regular as surf. In the middle of the yard a multiflora rosebush ravaged by deer proffers its one white branch. …

Overcast and still. A soft thump up in the woods must be either a body or a piece of tree well into the slow fever of its afterlife. …

Two squirrels slowly circle the trunk of a walnut tree, gray against gray, frenetic tails sending Morse messages through the heartwood. …

The Morning Porch/Patio