12/31/2018

Dave Bonta December 31, 2018

Dawn. A Carolina wren drops like a ninja from its roost in the old hornets’ nest. The sky between the ridgetop trees turns to blood.

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12/31/2018

September 7, 2023
Just at the point where the half-moon loses its share of the shadows, a migrant thrush calls from the woods’ edge: a few soft notes,…
12/31/2018

September 7, 2022
Half an hour before sunrise, the first migrant wood thrush arrives at the woods’ edge, calling softly. A sneeze gathers in my sinuses.
12/31/2018

September 7, 2021
Sunlight leaks down from the treetops. A blue jay’s brassy call. Then the silence resumes where it left off.
12/31/2018

September 7, 2017
The stiltgrass that has taken over the garden bends low with dew, and I remember: these are the “autumn grasses” beloved of Basho and Buson.
12/31/2018

September 7, 2016
Warm and humid; the birds are more vocal than they’ve been in days. A squirrel slinks across the forest floor, foraging only in the shade.
12/31/2018

September 7, 2015
Where the sun shines through elms and birches, almost half the leaves are already yellow. In the meadow, the goldenrod is at its height.
12/31/2018

September 7, 2014
Hoarse cries of a lone Canada goose—I scan the sky and see nothing but blue. A monarch butterfly arcs through the shadows in the yard.
12/31/2018

September 7, 2013
Another cold, clear morning. A chipmunk finds a patch of sun from which to tick, like a self-winding alarm clock set for fall.
12/31/2018

September 7, 2012
Fog from the valley spills over the ridgetop and advances on the porch. The jays start calling, unable to see each other in adjacent trees.
12/31/2018

September 7, 2011
A hummingbird hovers over the red porch floor made glossy by wind-blown rain. A catbird on a dead limb tilts its head to eye the…

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The Morning Porch

Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow

12/31/2018