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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April 22, 2017
The black birch catkins are even longer and yellower than yesterday, shining in the rain. The shadbush have traded blossoms for pale leaves.
April 22, 2016
Overcast and damp. A tom turkey's lusty declarations echo off the hillside, punctuated by the crisp, interrogatory whistles of a cowbird.
April 22, 2015
Birdsong amid the rain. My brother's ailing dog joins me on the porch, lying down with a sigh on the squirrel's wet footprints.
April 22, 2014
The myrtle that has taken over half my yard is in bloom: a scatter of blue. At the woods' edge, two blue-headed vireos compare songs.
April 22, 2013
The hammer-blows of a pileated woodpecker opening up an oak. Peonies are sprouting in the garden, an infant's pink, half-open fists.
April 22, 2012
Church bells from town swell and fade as the wind eddies—some old hymn on the carillon. A black-and-white warbler's breathy two-note call.
April 22, 2011
The sun glows faintly through the clouds like a coin at the bottom of a fountain. Three flickers bicker above the springhouse.
April 22, 2010
Every day is the earth's birthday. The largest peony plant, though still uncurling, already sports ten small planets midwived by ants.
April 22, 2009
Another cold morning. During a pause in the robin's song, I can hear the spring peepers' tireless ME ME ME ME ME down in the marsh.
April 22, 2008
In the half-light, the faint crackling sound of a deer eating a rose bush. A lone Canada goose flies over, honking enough for a whole flock.

The Morning Porch