Tuesday January 14, 2014

Dave Bonta January 14, 2014

At the woods’ edge, a jumble of bone-white sticks: spicebush branches debarked by rabbits. A gray blur where a titmouse grooms in the lilac.

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No frost yet, but the woods' edge is riddled with fresh chinks of sky. The squeaky rattle of a winter wren as it pops out of the weeds. …

The train's horn is full of Monday. Migrating towhees compare notes at the edge of the woods. A blue wound closing in the clouds. …

Scattered crow caws coalesce into a flash mob filled with rage, but dissipate in less than a minute. High up in the clouds, a raven croaks. …

Cloudy and cold. A bluebottle fly clings to a porch column, stopped head pointing at five o'clock. Four geese go over—a confusion of honks. …

The trees seethe with the small birds of winter. Even the cherry stump beside the porch attracts a nuthatch's thorough investigation. …

From behind the springhouse, the opening notes of a song sparrow's song, and a moment later, the closing notes of a white-throated sparrow. …

At first light, some newly toppled tree creaks in the wind. What I'd taken for the dog statue on the far side of the yard swivels its ears. …

Through a new hole in the forest, the sun imparts a half-minute nimbus to a tree trunk on the crest of the ridge. Clouds race by. …

A wet blanket of snow has crushed the lilac and bowed down the flaming maples and still-green oaks. Every 30 seconds another crack or crash. …

I can smell the rain coming two hours away. When it finally arrives, mixed in with the falling leaves, two spring peepers begin to call. …

The Morning Porch/Patio