Tuesday June 19, 2018

Dave Bonta June 19, 2018

Spider mites zoom around the table, cartoonish as creatures in an old-fashioned video game. A helicopter crosses the sky’s one patch of blue.

Previous Post: Previous Post

Next Post: Next Post

Clear, cold and very quiet, expect for bird calls and the trickle of the stream. Since I'm late in rising, a leaf has taken my seat. …

Low and heavy clouds. A red-tailed hawk circling over the field flaps to gain altitude, ignored by a wind-buffeted flock of crows. …

Windy and cold. The rising sun peeks out from beneath a lid of clouds: in the sudden glow, goldfinches, their squeaky calls. …

Overcast and cold with snow in the air and scattered notes from a traveling ensemble of flautists: a large V of tundra swans arrowing south. …

The low throb of a freight train laboring up the valley. A mossy log at the woods' edge is lit up by the sun's reflection in a window. …

There's a shimmer in the air: rain fine as the hair on a woman's back. The wet tree trunks are scrofulous with lichen. …

A deer under the lilac glows strangely in the sunlight refracted from my bedroom window. The waxy myrtle leaves crackle between her teeth. …

Fog. High in a skeletal birch, the silhouettes of ten goldfinches are almost the right size for leaves, moving in their own slow wind. …

The house finch tries to fit everything into a five-second burst of song, purple among the purple twigs of silky dogwood. …

The still, gray morning is interrupted by the stuttering roar of a pickup full of hunters hauling an enormous homemade wooden tree stand. …

Snowflakes in the air: the small, light variety that fall at ten degrees below freezing. They drift sideways, glistening in the sun. …

Something approaches at a slow shuffle, gray in the gray light: porcupine. He threads the thistle patch, squeezes under the porch. …

The Morning Porch/Patio