11/27/2017

Dave Bonta November 27, 2017 1

Bright sun, cold wind. The blaze-orange vests of two hunters walking up the road: a father and his daughter who’s just shot her first deer.

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mary mccloskey
7 years ago Permalink

This sort of breaks my heart.

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11/27/2017

November 4, 2023
Thin clouds turn livid for the sunrise. A chickadee twitters. Two minutes later, we’re back to gloom.
11/27/2017

November 4, 2022
Cold sunrise. The green hippogriff of a lilac just starting to yellow. Dry leaves whispering of deer in heat.
11/27/2017

November 4, 2021
25F degrees at dawn. A bat flies low over the meadow as the white-throated sparrows tune up. Frost-encrusted blades of grass seem to glow.
11/27/2017

November 4, 2020
My brother pauses in the yard to talk about the waves of migrant birds I’d missed by sleeping in, his face strangely lit by reflected…
11/27/2017

November 4, 2018
Yard seething with birds: sparrows, chickadees, a brown creeper. A raven flies past with something in its bill, wings going pfft pfft pfft.
11/27/2017

November 4, 2017
Cold with mellow sunshine. A vociferous blue jay pauses to swipe its bill vigorously against the branch and scratch its face with one foot.
11/27/2017

November 4, 2016
The red and scarlet oaks have finally turned their namesake colors, and the whole ridge shines like a fresh gut pile in the sun.
11/27/2017

November 4, 2015
Leaves still cling to the tall locusts—threadbare coats of gold beneath the fourth-quarter moon, pale as a discarded toenail clipping.
11/27/2017

November 4, 2014
Warmer and overcast. The silhouettes of small birds feeding gregariously in the top of a black birch—goldfinches, I realize when they fly.
11/27/2017

November 4, 2013
After another cold night, the lilac is carpeting its corner of the yard with the yellow-green curls of its suddenly devalued currency.

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The Morning Porch

Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow

11/27/2017

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