The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta August 5, 2022

Rain and fog. A wood thrush sings three times and falls silent. A mourning dove goes on and on.

Previous Post: Previous Post

Next Post: Next Post

December 24, 2023
A few degrees above freezing, heavily overcast, and dead quiet apart from the spring’s low gurgle. A bluebird sings two notes and lapses back into…
December 24, 2022
-2F/-20C. Even under two hats and a beard, the windward side of my face turns numb. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas: bleak…
December 24, 2021
Moonlight fades but the driveway glows even whiter: a new quarter-inch of snow. The sky is clear. Treetop goldfinches start to chatter.
December 24, 2020
White sky and white ground meet in a blur of fog. Above the drumming of rain on the roof, a white-throated sparrow’s minor-key song.
December 24, 2019
Clouds slowly thin. Facing southeast, I watch tree branches turn to black latticework against the sun as it sharpens from smear to blaze.