Thursday April 16, 2015

Dave Bonta April 16, 2015

Two wild turkeys cross the road into the woods, their dark feathers shining in the sun as they disappear into the equally lustrous laurel.

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Two oak leaves are caught by a birch, one after the other. From somewhere in the clouds, the buzzing rattle of a plane with a loose part. …

Raindrops grow farther and farther apart until there are none. Three squirrels screech in counterpoint, a preaching choir of fear. …

The only cloud is an unmoving section of contrail that barely melts in the course of an hour, stubborn as a block of ice in all that blue. …

After a night of high winds, the lilac is more threadbare than ever, and in the crowns of the oaks, only the odd clot of a drey remains. …

Cold, overcast and still. Two song sparrows with markedly different regional accents sing back and forth across the road. …

Cold, with a bitter wind. The juncos sound twice as cheerful as they did before the snow, twittering as they chase through the lilac. …

The big tulip tree at the woods' edge is releasing its seeds, spinning blades backlit by the sun. The cedar by the door trembles with birds. …

Mid-morning, and my feet are propped on the rail as usual. A female downy woodpecker lands on my right boot and taps at the worn-down sole. …

By midmorning, all the white crosses left by jets have disappeared into another cloudless sky. A soft bang as a junco side-swipes a window. …

The bubbling song of a wren in the half-dark makes it suddenly half-light. From now till blue noon, everything else is a footnote. …

Through a curtain of cold rain, the lilac's thinning collection of stamps from the countries of summer, green-gold against the gray woods. …

Rain drumming on the roof. A single bar of white-throated sparrow song, and then the factory whistle dividing the dawn from the day. …

The Morning Porch/Patio