Monday September 21, 2015

Dave Bonta September 21, 2015

The wind is out of the east, and, slight as it is, carries an acrid, chemical smell from the sewage plant and the quarry’s dull roar.

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On this date

December 10, 2017
Snowflakes land on the dog's thick brown fur and take a long time to melt. I begin to look differently at the brown, snow-dusted hillside. …
December 10, 2016
The sun is a bright nipple in milk-white clouds. On the ground, a new, thin fur—what deer hunters like to call a good tracking snow. …
December 10, 2014
Overcast and windy. Two nuthatches descend tree trunks on either side of the road, calling back and forth as they glean in the furrows. …
December 10, 2013
At first the snow falls straight and serious. But as it thins, they seem to lose their direction and wander back and forth, these flakes. …
December 10, 2012
Pale patches on the upper sides of branches, almost like snow: lichens opening their pores to the rain and fog. My left eyelid twitches. …
December 10, 2011
Clear and cold. I shut my eyes against the sun, and the lace-work of tree branches reappears in white on the red canvas of my eyelids. …
December 10, 2010
Emily Dickinson's 180th birthday. The sky's flat whiteness matches the ground: the blank of a page, of self-erasure, of astonishment. …
December 10, 2009
Yesterday's slush has grown hard as cartilage. I watch a small flock of snowbirds hopping around on it, unfazed by the bitter wind. …
December 10, 2008
Rain and fog. Only the low rumbly sounds break through: a jet, a train. Sitting in the dark, it's almost possible to believe in isolation. …
December 10, 2007
The cooing turned out to be a raven—later on, it was barking like a dog. Rifle season is over, and the mountain is littered with gut piles. …

The Morning Porch/Patio

The view from my front porch (in Pennsylvania) or back patio (in London) every morning, in 140 or fewer characters

Monday September 21, 2015