The Morning Porch

September 12, 2022 by Dave Bonta

Fog rising into the treetops. The garden chipmunk keeps me company, sitting on the end of the wall, scratching his belly.

September 30, 2025
Sunrise brings birdsong: a Tennesee warbler’s blur of high notes answered by a towhee’s interrogatory tweet, and a white-throated sparrow’s “Oh, sweet Canada” giving way to the reedy whistles of cedar waxwings, tut-tutting robins, and a winter wren’s liquid braid.
September 30, 2024
Rain. The rumble of a distant jet. A squirrel crouches on a limb with her tail over her head, chiseling open a walnut.
September 30, 2023
A clearing sky. with traffic sound out of the east. Six geese coming flapping low over the trees, honking like lost Volvos.
September 30, 2022
Overcast and cold. A furious back-and-forth of chainsaws from the powerline, where a crew works to refresh the century-old clearcut.
September 30, 2021
Clear and still. A double splat of black walnuts onto the driveway. At the top of an oak, a crow grooms itself with a soft clicking sound.