Wednesday June 20, 2018

Dave Bonta June 20, 2018

A cat watches me from the depths of the mock orange tree. The birds are elsewhere, and silent, having begun singing around 4:00 a.m.

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September 24, 2017
‪Clear and cool. A bee-fly hovers over the lip of my cup. Right next to where I sat stargazing last night, a fresh twist of coyote scat.‬
September 24, 2016
Breezy and cool. Three phoebes hawk for insects along the woods' edge while a young pine or blackpoll warbler flits through the goldenrod.
September 24, 2015
Another cloudless morning. Chipmunks chase each other through a bar of sunlight on the forest floor. The distant, metallic calls of a raven.
September 24, 2014
As it warms up, the noise from the valley fades. Seven blue jays land in the tall locusts, looking anything but blue against the clear sky.
September 24, 2013
Sunny and cold. A phoebe calling up by the barn, as if this were some morning in March—and he was just arriving, not preparing to leave.
September 24, 2012
I'm looking at a walnut when it lets go and thuds to the ground—the branch rocks like a diving board. A vireo calls softly from the woods.
September 24, 2011
Rusty things: the wail of a cat in heat, a squirrel's slow scold, the cry of a jay, and the black cherry leaves fading to a coppery red.
September 24, 2010
A harvestman stilting across the porch stops to poke each fallen walnut leaf. Up in the woods, the sudden squirrel rattle that means Hawk.
September 24, 2009
Pieces of walnut husk plop onto the driveway. A yellow leaf trapped by caterpillar silk flops like a fish a foot above the fishless stream.
September 24, 2008
Up in the field, five black cattle—some valley neighbor's escaped stock—emerge from the mist and pause at the sight of their shadows.

The Morning Porch/Patio

The view from my front porch (in Pennsylvania) or back patio (in London) every morning, in 140 or fewer characters

Wednesday June 20, 2018