The Morning Porch

April 8, 2014 by Dave Bonta

Half an hour till sunrise. Over the brassy din of the dooryard birds, from off in the fog, the soft, wandering warble of a winter wren.

January 14, 2025
The deep cold has returned, bringing silence and a bitter wind. The just-past-full moon slips behind a cloud in the west and never returns. From…
January 14, 2024
Snow at first light—a silent mob of moving shadows, pecks on my cheek—then as dawn approaches, the slow differentiation of black and swirling white.
January 14, 2023
In the pre-dawn darkness, something is barking up on the ridge—a disconsolate sound, nearly inaudible over the bitter wind.
January 14, 2020
Cold and gloomy. A raven alights on a squirrel nest at the top of an oak near the woods’ edge and settles in for a…
January 14, 2019
Low sun on snow—even the shadows glitter. I’m feeling creaky, like the labored wingbeats of a dove starting up from the water.