The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta December 25, 2013 2

Sunrise turns the western ridge crimson. Chickadees and titmice flit through the branches, calling, while we stand snapping pictures.

2 Comments

Hunger
11 years ago Permalink
Louise
11 years ago Permalink

Happy Christmas! :-)

Comments are closed.

Previous Post: Previous Post

Next Post: Next Post

January 25, 2024
Fog blurs the difference between the white below and above, the trees reduced to gray wraiths as a Carolina wren sings for the break of…
January 25, 2023
My phone insists it’s snowing, but the clouds hold their fire. The ground is nearly bare again; it could use a fresh coat. The creek…
January 25, 2022
From the snowy woods, a call I don’t recognize—Avian? A predator?—with a note of complaint: I’m hungry. It’s cold.
January 25, 2021
Leaden sky. The hollow echoes with the drumming of pileated woodpeckers. Two soon stop, but the one with the most resonant tree bangs on.
January 25, 2019
The wind raises snow from the ground like a necromancer. Basking in the sun’s feeble heat, I watch the six-spoked wheels settle on my coat.