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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A blue wound opens in the clouds and heals over again. In the garden, pink claws that may become peonies if a late frost doesn't kill them. …

‪Three clumps of pale mushrooms have appeared in the yard, one bearing an old leaf aloft like an extra parasol. Waves of lilac scent.‬ …

Warm and windy. Nuthatch and woodpecker calls intermingle with the creaks and rattles of trees, most of which have now burst their buds. …

Bright sun, cold shadows. Down in the hollow, two downy woodpeckers are engaged in a head-banging competition. The neighbor's rooster crows. …

In a gust of wind, one dead leaf dances too crazily: a question mark butterfly. It rests with its orange wings open to the sun. …

The fierce cries of a male kestrel climbing, fluttering and diving over the corner of the field. A crow hurries over to harass it. …

Watched by a chipmunk at the end of the stone wall, I hold a mouthful of coffee in my cheeks, do my best to look as if I know how to live. …

Thanks to insomnia, I have two mornings: one with ground fog lit by the waning moon at dawn, the other hot and abuzz with carpenter bees. …

Drum of rain on the roof and the birds sound distant—robin, field sparrow, cowbird—the world greener than it's been in seven months. …

Sunrise. A white moth and a white butterfly flit between the cherry blossoms, and at the edge of the woods, the shadblow is in full bloom. …

Cherry blossoms are falling—an early-morning bumblebee. Dressed for a funeral, I sit listening to the first wood thrushes of the year. …

The Morning Porch/Patio