The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta December 1, 2024 0

Cold and mostly clear at mid-morning. The small hole down to the stream that flows under my yard is rimmed with hoarfrost, and emits a quiet gurgle.

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December 4, 2023
A mottled gray sky all the way to the horizon, not brightening even for the sunrise, let alone for the crows with their many complaints…
December 4, 2022
Still haunted by dreams I can’t remember when the sun clears the ridge and sets the clouds of my breath aglow.
December 4, 2021
Clear except for two contrails, fuzzy with age. Another scrap of gray paper has fallen from the old hornets’ nest, its lines blank as ever.
December 4, 2020
The snow has shrunk to a few spots the low sun doesn’t reach. In the herb bed, the only white is a pile of clippings…
December 4, 2018
Flakes in the air. The weather’s turned cold in time to save the last, shrunken curls of snowbanks, marooned like sea creatures on a beach.