Sunday March 27, 2016

Dave Bonta March 27, 2016

In the soft light of a half-hidden sun, the old red maple beside the road is ruddy with blossoms. The sound of teeth chiselling a walnut.

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April 27, 2017
‪Birdsong, rustling in the leaf duff, a distant plane: soundtrack to a movie starring the landscape where the only real story is the weather.‬
April 27, 2016
Overcast and cold. I am listening to the woodpeckers the way one listens to a marimba, savoring the varied, rich tones of dead wood.
April 27, 2015
Overcast and breezy. The daffodils are beginning to droop like old balloons. A black-throated green warbler sings once and moves on.
April 27, 2014
On a cold, clear morning, the calls of birds seem almost crystalline. To say nothing of the whistle of a westbound freight...
April 27, 2013
From the greening-up lilac and the blooming forsythia, a steady chatter of goldfinches, their own plumage now turned from green to yellow.
April 27, 2012
The sun clears the ridge and disappears behind a dark lid of clouds. The wind which a moment before felt envigorating is now simply cold.
April 27, 2011
A song so familiar it takes several minutes to register that this is new, the first I've heard it since last fall: common yellowthroat.
April 27, 2010
A groundhog emerges from the stream and climbs the roadbank. I glance away for a moment and a turkey takes his place, shining like obsidian.
April 27, 2009
An inversion layer brings traffic noise into the dawn chorus. Large gnats land on my arm. A squirrel sits on the head of the concrete dog.
April 27, 2008
Overcast and cold. The porch and yard are aglow with cherry blossoms, blown down by yesterday's storms. A catbird mews from the springhouse.

The Morning Porch

The view from my front porch every morning in 140 or fewer characters

Sunday March 27, 2016