Monday March 12, 2018

Dave Bonta March 12, 2018

Cold and gloomy, but the yard seethes with birds: juncos, cardinals, wren. A hundred yards away, a hawk sits on a limb, bedeviled by crows.

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English in the next yard, Portuguese beyond—languages given away by cadence and intonation alone, just as we recognize sparrow or wren. …

Sunny and cool. Blowflies, hover flies and paper wasps takes turns landing on my bare arms; the wasps have by far the silkiest touch. …

Just after full daylight, a patter of raindrops on the roof. My guests are departing. The steady, dull roar of machines at the quarry. …

A walnut leaflet falling into the yard rotates on its axis like a yellow spoke in search of a wheel. The brown dog lies panting in the sun. …

In the two months I've been away, my yard and garden have turned alien, taken over by stiltgrass. The buzz of a hummingbird in the bergamot. …

A hawk circles over the ridge, higher and higher, until it appears smaller and fainter than the white blood cells criss-crossing my retina. …

A black ant sways and staggers. A white caterpillar turns and begins to descend the white column, as if finally convinced it's not a tree. …

Overcast and cool, with the beeping of quarry trucks. A pair of cardinals land above the dry creek bed, exchange a few chirps, and fly off. …

What wind is this, disturbing the stifling tranquility of the morning? The cherry tree wags its thick webwormed finger. A sudden downpour. …

The Morning Porch/Patio