The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta March 26, 2020

So much song from a single robin perched 80 feet up in a black locust! Down below, juncos comb through the prone stiltgrass for seeds.

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June 16, 2024
Cool and quiet, with the sun half-dimmed by thin clouds. A series of loud wingbeats from the forest. A gurgle from my gut.
June 16, 2023
The soft noise of steady rain; birdcalls sound half-submerged. I watch wisps of cloud drift through the yard.
June 16, 2022
Hazy and humid. The sun in the crown of the big dead maple. A hen turkey putting like slow motor, summoning her chicks.
June 16, 2021
Clear and cold (46F/8C). A few, blue chinks in the green wall of leaves where the ridgetop oaks have been decimated by gypsy moth caterpillars.
June 16, 2020
Another gorgeous morning. The bird songs don’t change when the sun goes in, but it’s only then that I hear their melancholy undertones.