Wednesday August 29, 2018

Dave Bonta August 29, 2018 1

I carry a dry chair into the drenched garden. Elderberries dot the ground and raindrops dot the elder. A sudden shuffle of woodpigeon wings.

Comments are closed.

Previous Post: Previous Post

Next Post: Next Post

The birds seem unusually active; there must be a fresh bloom of aerial plankton. Even the brown thrasher brings his jazz to the yard. …

The old cherry stump beside the porch has once again attracted a pair of nest-minded chickadees. They pop in and out of its many holes. …

High clouds spread and thicken—slow yeast in a blue bowl. A hornet hovers behind my head, buzzing like an alarm clock I can't turn off. …

A ruffed grouse drums and a field sparrow sings with almost the same accelerating rhythm. The hollow gurgle of the stream under the yard. …

Two male flickers fighting over the dead elm and its den-hole joust in the garden, jabbing and feinting with their long bills. …

A series of high-pitched howls from down in the hollow: coyotes or children? It's hard to tell. I watch a silent, nearly motionless crow. …

Sun strikes the top of the tulip tree—half-grown leaves vibrating in the wind. In the road, the severed hindquarters of a rabbit. …

A white haze on the bank above the road: the shadbush is finally beginning to blossom. A brown thrasher in the yard says everything twice. …

Sometime past 7:30, the birds fall silent for half a minute and there's only fog, a slow drip from leaves no larger than squirrels' ears. …

Kitchen: wolf spider. Bathroom: silverfish. Dining room: millipede. And right above me on the porch, a gnatcatcher lands and sings. …

Black cherries leaf out before flowering, but this morning I notice three white spots in the one across the road: budding caterpillar tents. …

The Morning Porch/Patio