Monday February 10, 2020

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.

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Bright and warm. A squirrel in the lilac drops to the ground for a quick roll, as if scratching an itch. A fat fly moves into the shade. …

A green haze of invasives: daylily, barberry, garlic mustard. A gnatcatcher hovering and diving between raindrops—the tick tick of its bill. …

I slept in, but what have I slept into? Rain. No, snow. No, sun. The wind roaring on the wrong ridge. Church bells ringing in town. …

‪Something sets off the neighbor's rooster, and a few moments later a raven flies past the porch, croaking like a duck with laryngitis.‬ …

A paper wasp slowly inspects the porch railings, long legs dangling. Just inside the woods' edge, one pale bone of a log gleams in the sun. …

Two chickadees inspect the old cherry stump for potential nest holes, tapping, exploring its hollow core. Up on the ridge, a turkey gobbles. …

A red-tailed hawk spirals high on a thermal over the powerline. When I stand up, a raven takes off behind the house—the noise of its wings. …

The soft colors of trees just coming into blossom: birch, elm, shadbush. The bright yellow on yellow of a bumblebee visiting the daffodils. …

The green blush deepens on the hillside; shining motes of pollen speckle my laptop screen. A crow flaps up from the black currant bushes. …

An accelerated tapping on the roof—who ordered rain? One bird says Konkerlee, another, Drink your tea. Takes me a second to sort them out. …

What makes the spring peepers start calling in the middle of a morning, with sun so strong I can see the faint pollen filming the floor? …

Gray sky. Distant drumming of a grouse—so faint, it could be the mountain's own heartbeat. A rabbit in the lilac scratches behind its ear. …

Over the dawn fusillade of woodpeckers, I hear the distant gobbles of a turkey. Five deer graze below the house. The doves make moan. …

The Morning Porch