4/13/2018

Dave Bonta April 13, 2018 1

It’s warm. A blue jay cycles through its repertoire of complaints. The first paper wasp of spring lands on my shoulder with a gentle tap.

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4/13/2018

October 12, 2022
Slightly warmer. Alarmed chipmunks go in and out of sync. The slow hegemony of clouds.
4/13/2018

October 12, 2021
Still, with a flat-white sky. The throat-rattles of a crow chasing off a sharp-shinned hawk. The black birches fill with kinglets.
4/13/2018

October 12, 2020
Rain. A red-eyed vireo is calling. My brother the birder tells me that at daybreak there were seven species of sparrows on the garden fence.
4/13/2018

October 12, 2018
As many hours as the wind has been blowing, a strong gust brings still more leaves. A tulip poplar samara helicopters almost to the porch.
4/13/2018

October 12, 2017
Gold on gold: a kinglet’s crest among the birch leaves. Rust on rust: a chipmunk’s fur among rain-flattened tangles of stiltgrass.
4/13/2018

October 12, 2016
Clear and still. The witch hazel in the garden has just opened its first blooms, spidery petals a far purer yellow than the curling leaves.
4/13/2018

October 12, 2015
Another cool and cloudless morning. The hollow echoes with the croaks of ravens. A pileated woodpecker taps on the side of my house.
4/13/2018

October 12, 2014
Clear and cold, though still no first frost. In the garden, the lily-of-the-valley berries have dulled over like the hearts of dead moles. * This…
4/13/2018

October 12, 2013
Several bright spots in the clouds where the sun might be hiding like a pea in a shell game. Dozens of crows fly overhead, most…
4/13/2018

October 12, 2012
The rabbit ambles out of its favorite rose bush—no minks in sight this morning—and nibbles on a tuft of grass at the edge of the…

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The Morning Porch

Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow

4/13/2018

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