The Morning Porch

November 13, 2019 by Dave Bonta

Juncos’ soft whistles. A white-throated sparrow’s melancholy song. The joyful shrieks of our neighbors’ four-year-old grandchildren.

December 13, 2024
The wind has dropped, leaving a dusting of snow, and the sky is a patchwork of white and gray. A rifle booms from down-hollow. The…
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Just enough clear sky in the run-up to dawn to catch a few meteors, two of them nearly simultaneous. The absolute silence in which they…
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In the half hour it takes the first red cloud to become a sunrise, every crow in the area has a suggestion. Even a distant…
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After a red sunrise, the sky turns dark for St. Lucy’s Day. But who needs candles? My outrage at our broken politics is incandescent.
December 13, 2019
Two degrees below freezing, but the rain remains rain. Somewhere above the fog, an airplane’s single propeller.