6/29/2024

Dave Bonta June 29, 2024 0

Heavily overcast; 88% humidity. I’m clapping out the lives of mosquitoes, one after another—too big and slow for their own good. A breeze springs up.

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6/29/2024

July 3, 2023
Back from the city, wondering how everything could have gotten so much greener and more lush in just four days. The sun comes out. Leaves…
6/29/2024

July 3, 2022
Overcast at sunrise. The woodpeckers’ percussive breakfasts. A mosquito wanders over my propped-up feet.
6/29/2024

July 3, 2021
On a dark and cloudy morning, the green of the woods’ edge seems even more intense. The scarlet tanager sounds hoarse with longing.
6/29/2024

July 3, 2016
A worm-eating warbler ventures out to the woods’ edge, picking caterpillars from the leaves of a birch like an oxpecker grooming a buffalo.
6/29/2024

July 3, 2015
Overcast and cool. The dog suddenly rises from her lethargy to dive off the porch and chase a groundhog back under the house.
6/29/2024

July 3, 2012
A towhee by the springhouse sings an inverted version of his usual song. The first purple bergamot is in bloom—a court jester’s absurd hat.
6/29/2024

July 3, 2011
Goldfinch in the garden: a coneflower stem breaks under his weight and he moves to another, probing the dark centers for a hint of seed.
6/29/2024

July 3, 2010
A small yellow flower lures me down off the porch to find a new species for the yard: fringed loosestrife. Sounds like a biker-chick brawl.
6/29/2024

July 3, 2009
A low, leaden sky. Leaves blow backwards. A robin on a dead branch at the edge of the yard turns to face the woods.
6/29/2024

July 3, 2008
A juvenile robin grooming in the cherry tree, light feathers dotting its dark back—scruffy as a teenage boy’s first beard. The sun comes up.

Go all the way back to 2008...

The Morning Porch

Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow

6/29/2024

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