The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta February 19, 2018

The fog is a bad magician. Each time it lifts, it reveals the same trees and snow, the same skinny squirrels, the same two crows jeering.

Previous Post: Previous Post

Next Post: Next Post

December 18, 2023
Wind seasoned with drizzle in the pre-dawn darkness. Between gusts, the distant whine of tires. A tree limb cracks, but no crash.
December 18, 2021
Steady rain and fog at one degree above freezing: bad luck for our Christmas Bird Count. Over the rain I hear crows, nuthatches, a chickadee.
December 18, 2020
Overcast and cold. Juncos hop down the snowy streambanks for a drink. A female cardinal flies past—the extra red in her open wings.
December 18, 2019
The icy trees have been dusted with snow, which still sticks in the wind when they make a sound like the dry grinding of snails’…
December 18, 2018
Clear and cold. Blazing through a forest’s worth of treetops, the rising sun looks feathery, a bit disheveled.