The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta November 29, 2017

The hiss of the wind. Oak leaves scud above the treetops in one direction while juncos and sparrows move through the weeds in the other.

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July 12, 2024
Crystal-clear and cool. A Cooper’s hawk calls from a sunlit limb at the woods’ edge—a sound I haven’t heard since early spring.
July 12, 2023
Cool enough to seem autumnal, but for the wood thrush and hooded warbler calling from the woods’ edge and the hummingbirds buzzing in the bergamot.
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An hour after sunrise, wild garlic heads still nod. A flower fly hovers in front of my glasses’ right lens. The smell of smoke.
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Dawn mediated by fog is slower, but it gets to the same, obvious spectacle in the end. And the usual wren has something to say…
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The random yet purposeful flight of a great-spangled fritillary. The wind dies and a piece of thistle down descends straight into the yard.