The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta June 6, 2015

A flash of blue as one indigo bunting chases another out of the yard. From within the rock wall, a chipmunk’s hollow tock.

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June 17, 2024
Clear and still. A flicker’s eponymous chant from the sunlit crown of a black locust. The black raspberries in my yard are already blood-red.
June 17, 2023
Sun through thin clouds. A silent crow skims the treetops where a cuckoo coos. Someone’s offsprings beg for more breakfast.
June 17, 2022
Wind has blown all the humidity out to sea. The forest is astir with its comings and goings, until I can barely remain seated.
June 17, 2021
The third gorgeous morning in a row. I could sit here forever, gaping at the light through the trees, if only it would last.
June 17, 2016
The crash of a falling limb or tree, muffled by moss and damp leaf duff. The humidity’s lifting. A white admiral butterfly lands on my…