The Morning Porch

January 19, 2024 by Dave Bonta

First light. White lines crisscross the dark edge of the woods: snow on trees. I stick my hand out to feel it falling, flakes as fine as dust melting into my palm.

1 thought on “”

Kathleen Everett

January 19, 2024 at 9:08 am

Brrrrr

Comments are closed.

May 27, 2025
Overcast and cool. As the wood thrush fades in the distance, the brown thrasher parodies his song. Waxwings whistle in the treetops. The sun almost comes out.
May 27, 2024
Dawn: a blurry moon just above the trees losing its glow. The wood thrush’s ethereal song gives way to a red-eyed vireo sounding like a wind-up bird, going at twice normal speed.
May 27, 2023
Another clear, cold morning with little dew. Goldfinches gad about in the tops of the locusts, seemingly oblivious to other birds’ territorial obsessions.
May 27, 2022
A lull between showers; the avian chorus swells. Each recumbent lily-of-the-valley leaf cradles a collection of raindrops.
May 27, 2021
It’s so clear I can see the tiniest specks of aerial flotsam drifting past the sun. A cuckoo switches to his most plaintive call.

See all...

Share on social media

1 thought on “”