Wednesday November 18, 2015

Dave Bonta November 18, 2015

Cold and gray. Two doves sit motionless in a tall locust. A pileated woodpecker skulks through the woods, silent save for its wingbeats.

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A trio of great tits foraging in the shrubbery. A bumblebee flies over, drawing my eye to the swifts circling high against the clouds. …

I take my eye off the clear sky for a moment and suddenly there are clouds—four streaks beside the moon's thin frown. Cerulean warbler song. …

A light mist rises from the rain-soaked grass. Just as I'm writing this, a hummingbird buzzes in to inspect the red lettering on my T-shirt. …

Two wood satyr butterflies careen through the yard, the dark pages of their wings marked with yellow Os. A blue dragonfly circles the house. …

The caution of wild things. Male and female cardinal taking turns bathing in the stream. The chipmunk rising furtively to its hind legs. …

Another warm morning. I realize I like the dead cherry because it reminds me of winter. A young robin lands on a branch with its beak open. …

Peonies are to death what roses are to love. After this afternoon's predicted storms I'm sure they'll all be bowed, poor thornless things. …

A squirrel running on the roof above my head: the rhythm of hoofbeats in the paintings of horses from when they were still thought to bound. …

In the light rain, a squirrel feasts on red maple keys. Reduced to pieces, the blades flutter straight down, robbed of all ability to spin. …

The Morning Porch/Patio