Skip to content

The Morning Porch/Patio

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

  • About
  • Keyword index
  • Multimedia
  • Links
    • Via Negativa
    • Moving Poems
    • DaveBonta.com
    • Woodrat Photoblog
  • Home
  • 2017
  • January
  • Tuesday January 03, 2017

Tuesday January 03, 2017

Dave Bonta January 3, 2017

Steady rain. Two drenched birders walk up the road, towels draped over their binoculars, and tell me they’d managed to flush a barred owl.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged barred owl, Christmas bird count, rain
Previous Post: Previous Post
Next Post: Next Post

Primary Sidebar

    December 10, 2018

    In the red center of a berry-laden barberry bush, a male cardinal turns all about, gorging. When he flies, so much of its red goes with him. …

    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. …

Follow via Email

Get The Morning Porch delivered to your inbox every day.

Join 3,782 other subscribers

Other ways to follow

  • @morningporch on Twitter
  • RSS - entries
  • RSS - comments
  • Follow on Feedly

Related book

Cover of Ice Mountain with a linocut of a big ridgetop tree.
What I do after I sit on the porch. One winter and spring's daily walks distilled into short poems with linocut illustrations by Beth Adams.

Copyleft

Creative Commons License
All works on this site by Dave Bonta are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License.

Header image

Detail from Paper Garden by Clive Hicks-Jenkins (used by permission)

Archives

Frequent topics

American goldfinch black birch black locust black walnut blue jays cardinal Carolina wren catbird cherry tree chickadee chipmunks clouds cold crickets crows deer dogs fall foliage fog frost garden gray squirrel hawks I-99 juncos lilac oaks phoebe pileated woodpecker rain raven red maple ruby-throated hummingbird snow snowflakes springhouse stream sunrise train trucks tufted titmouse tulip tree white-breasted nuthatch wind wood thrush
  • Twitter
  • Instagram
  • Flickr
  • Vimeo
  • RSS

Copyright © 2019 The Morning Porch/Patio. Powered by WordPress and Stargazer.