The Morning Porch

October 8, 2023 by Dave Bonta

Windy and cold. In the wall of leaves at the woods’ edge, the first few fragments of what will be my winter sky.

August 5, 2025
Thin, high clouds. The yellow smudge that is the sun rises to the tune of quarry trucks beeping backwards. I study the weeds where I saw a bear disappear ten hours earlier, just at dusk.
August 5, 2024
Clear at sunrise, and cool enough that the crickets are still. I notice the big tulip tree at the woods’ edge has shed all its drought-stressed leaves and is green again.
August 5, 2023
Cloudy, but the clouds are paper-thin, so the Carolina wren bobbing on a branch casts a thin shadow.
August 5, 2022
Rain and fog. A wood thrush sings three times and falls silent. A mourning dove goes on and on.
August 5, 2021
5:15. A sliver of a moon with its dark bulk faintly illuminated by earthshine. Highway noise picks up. A towhee starts to tweet.