6/6/2023

Dave Bonta June 6, 2023 2

A bleary, bloodshot sun in an ash-white sky. Pileated woodpeckers foraging just inside the woods’ edge cackle like sacred clowns.

2 Comments

Susan Spivack
1 year ago Permalink

same sky/sun here. thank you for the sacred clowns, I’ve been feeling bummed out here, near Albany, contemplating the anthropocene scene from my kitchen window.
1. Dave Bonta
  1 year ago Permalink
  
  It’s incredibly sad and feels like a taste of the soon-to-be new normal.

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6/6/2023

July 26, 2023
Rising late, I find the sun already spread out on the leaves like piecemeal linen, shining white, and the forest floor striped with shadows.
6/6/2023

July 26, 2022
It’s actually cold—54F/12C! A crow at the top of the tallest locust where the sun strikes has one thing to say and she is saying…
6/6/2023

July 26, 2021
5:15. The moon through thin clouds. A whip-poor-will’s distant chant. 9:15. The sun through thin clouds. A hummingbird’s mid-air defecation.
6/6/2023

July 26, 2016
A hummingbird buzzes below the porch, looking for the touch-me-nots that the deer have eaten. Fly on my shoe, is it everything you’d hoped?
6/6/2023

July 26, 2015
The box turtle whose territory my house happens to encroach upon sits in the driveway, yellow markings like a road sign in a foreign script.
6/6/2023

July 26, 2012
The yark, yark of ravens skimming the trees, the low cloud ceiling just above. Crushing humidity. Vegetation still drips from a dawn storm.
6/6/2023

July 26, 2011
A perfect morning, clear and cool. A gray squirrel is biting off small branches and carrying them into the thickest part of the tall locust.
6/6/2023

July 26, 2010
The small cross of a plane against the blue, its distant drone. A flicker climbing the dead elm loses his footing on a patch of…
6/6/2023

July 26, 2009
The jesters’ caps on the topheading garlic have begun to split, revealing dense clusters of miniature selves. A raven’s mechanical laughter.
6/6/2023

July 26, 2008
A crashing sound from the springhouse meadow: a pair of bucks chasing each other, frisky as fawns and neck-deep in weeds they do not eat.

Go all the way back to 2008...

The Morning Porch

Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow

6/6/2023

2 Comments