The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta February 10, 2020

The sun peeks through a hole in the clouds, turning the drizzle into a feathery shimmer—visual equivalent of the finches’ endless warbling.

Previous Post: Previous Post

Next Post: Next Post

January 22, 2024
Between moonset and dawn, a dark hour filled with the sound of freight trains. I hold my head still to watch Venus slip through the…
January 22, 2023
Sky the color of faded jeans. It’s cold. The crash of a dead limb falling from the treetops where two female squirrels are eluding suitors.
January 22, 2022
The coldest morning of the year so far. Every few minutes, a tree with ice in its heartwood cracks like a gunshot. The ridge turns…
January 22, 2021
Half an hour before sunrise, the first inquisitive chirps: mockingbird. A snow-free caesura in the road where the spring flows under it.
January 22, 2020
Classic January morning: clear sky, very still, very cold. A lone crow’s harangue. The furnace stopping in mid-rumble as the power goes out.