Wednesday November 29, 2017

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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Out at first light. Venus is visible through the thin fog, slowly fading until I lose it in the already-bare branches of a walnut tree. …

Cold wind salted with the first few snowflakes—that seasonal seasoning. Behind the ridgetop trees, a hint of blue sky. …

Three propeller planes in half an hour, noisy as airborne lawnmowers. It's peak haiku time, but I could disappear into a novel. …

After last night's storm, all the birches and maples at the woods' edge have lost their bright leaves, the oaks beyond still a sombre green. …

The yelling of a crow unable to raise a mob. Sun glints on caterpillar silk strung like abandoned bunting among bare walnut-tree branches. …

Patches of frost in the yard. A yellow jacket from the underground nest in the garden lands on the shoulder of my sunlit coat. …

Cumulus clouds at two different heights: the lower ones move twice as fast. Lower still, a scattered flock of robins going the opposite way. …

In the cold drizzle, a kinglet hovers over the faded lilac leaves, hawking prey too small to see. Then it, too, vanishes into the gloom. …

Windy and clearing. Amidst all the twirlers and spiralers, one tulip poplar leaf plummets straight to the ground, folded like an umbrella. …

A Carolina wren trills from the springhouse attic window, and a winter wren answers from under a pile of brush with ten seconds of song. …

Canada geese. What leaf is small and black and falls more slowly than a feather? A fire dances up in the trash burner, the brightest thing. …

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