Saturday March 28, 2015

Dave Bonta March 28, 2015

A dusting of snow. Three song sparrows are trying to out-sing each other, and the tall black locust at the woods’ edge creaks with ice.

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Out at first light. Venus is visible through the thin fog, slowly fading until I lose it in the already-bare branches of a walnut tree. …

Cold wind salted with the first few snowflakes—that seasonal seasoning. Behind the ridgetop trees, a hint of blue sky. …

Three propeller planes in half an hour, noisy as airborne lawnmowers. It's peak haiku time, but I could disappear into a novel. …

After last night's storm, all the birches and maples at the woods' edge have lost their bright leaves, the oaks beyond still a sombre green. …

The yelling of a crow unable to raise a mob. Sun glints on caterpillar silk strung like abandoned bunting among bare walnut-tree branches. …

Patches of frost in the yard. A yellow jacket from the underground nest in the garden lands on the shoulder of my sunlit coat. …

Cumulus clouds at two different heights: the lower ones move twice as fast. Lower still, a scattered flock of robins going the opposite way. …

In the cold drizzle, a kinglet hovers over the faded lilac leaves, hawking prey too small to see. Then it, too, vanishes into the gloom. …

Windy and clearing. Amidst all the twirlers and spiralers, one tulip poplar leaf plummets straight to the ground, folded like an umbrella. …

A Carolina wren trills from the springhouse attic window, and a winter wren answers from under a pile of brush with ten seconds of song. …

Canada geese. What leaf is small and black and falls more slowly than a feather? A fire dances up in the trash burner, the brightest thing. …

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