The Morning Porch

September 15, 2020 by Dave Bonta

Weak sun. The bright blue of New York asters almost lost among the goldenrod. It takes me a moment to place a distant bird call: chicken.

3 thoughts on “”

Susan Spivack

September 15, 2020 at 5:13 pm

Welcome back…I’ve been missing your morning posts!
Kari McBride

September 15, 2020 at 5:48 pm

We missed you! Hope you are well.
Dave Bonta

September 23, 2020 at 2:21 pm

Thanks. I guess I’m back? I tried to quit, but obviously have completely back-slid.

Comments are closed.

December 2, 2024
Overcast and cold. Ten minutes before sunrise, a yellow rent appears in the clouds. In the distance, the neighbor’s chickens start up a racket.
December 2, 2023
Fog hides the sunrise, apart from a small opening on the ridgetop that fills with golden light. Then the gray curtain comes down again.
December 2, 2022
The frosted meadow glitters in the sun. A scrabbling of squirrel claws on bark. Off to the south, a raven croaks; to the north, crows.
December 2, 2021
It’s damp and warmish. A red-bellied woodpecker comes silently rocketing out of the woods. The creek remains mum about last night’s rain.
December 2, 2020
Raw and wintry, with snow on the ground and an iron wind. I muse on the convergent evolution of “December” and “dismember”.