November 2024

November 2, 2024

Dave Bonta November 2, 2024

A screech owl trilling just before sunrise sets the small birds off. The forsythia at the woods’ edge is once again yellow. The clouds turn red.

November 1, 2024

Dave Bonta November 1, 2024

After rain in the small hours, a clearing wind at dawn. Winter wren song issues from a hole in the road bank—a quiet torrent.

April 18, 2024
Just past sunrise, a vagrant red squirrel appears in the yard, given away at first by her nervous, jerky movements as she forages for breakfast,…
April 18, 2023
A cold and rainy dawn. The thermometer’s red pointer crosses the Centigrade zero—a null set. I say an atheist’s prayer for all the new leaves.
April 18, 2022
White sky slowly disappearing the sun like a pregnant rabbit reabsorbing her litter. Cedar waxwings come whistling down to the stream to drink.
April 18, 2021
In bright sun, the tulip poplar’s green torch beside a black cherry’s cloud of tiny pink leaves.
April 18, 2020
Did it really rain hard last night, or did I dream that? The creek seems no louder. High against the clouds, a small hawk flaps…