The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta February 7, 2019

The creek is high and loud. I try to film the fog but it retreats. The sky appears behind the trees as if blinds had just been pulled.

Previous Post: Previous Post

Next Post: Next Post

January 4, 2024
Snow flurries at sunrise. My canvas sleeves become collections of daggers and asterisks—a short-lived museum of the moment.
January 4, 2023
The mountain is loud with running water; it sounds like March. Returning from hunting, the feral cat gives me a baleful glance as she slinks…
January 4, 2021
Yesterday evening’s new-snow magic has completely dissipated, replaced by the familiar bleakness and a drip drip drip on the porch roof.
January 4, 2020
Sky nearly as gray as the woods. A gray squirrel runs between the trees, and the rain-softened leaf duff makes hardly a sound.
January 4, 2019
At dawn, that bright smudge in the clouds must be Venus, just above the trees. From the far end of the field, a single hoot:…