Saturday August 16, 2014

Dave Bonta August 16, 2014

A scattering of white in my overgrown garden: soapwort, bindweed, fleabane, snakeroot. The sky brightens. A towhee calls from the lilac.

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The rain begins just after mid-morning, slowly building in intensity. I watch as the dull green pelage of the world turns glossy again. …

The rain eases off at mid-morning, and once again a box turtle comes out of the woods and marches up the driveway with surprising haste. …

A wood thrush fledgling lands on the lower bar of the fretwork spandrel, breast feathers disheveled, eyerings imparting a look of surprise. …

A carpenter ant carries its mote of wood halfway along the edge of the porch before dropping it over the side. Such fastidious destroyers! …

At last the garden cricket has a rival. They creak slowly back and forth. I scan the western sky for what's left of last night's moon. …

Glory be to God for punctuation: the fawn's spots glowing in the gloom, drifting insect-motes, garlic in the yard, a ten-second rain. …

A bumblebee working the bergamot clambers over a green shield bug that's rooted to its straw, a tiny leaf swelling on a sap-filled stem. …

The Morning Porch