The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta February 12, 2025 0

The slow fall of small snowflakes never quite stops. A squirrel with a half a tail bounds past, carrying his freshy disinterred breakfast: a black lump of frozen walnut.

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February 13, 2024
A filigreed fretwork of wet snow clinging to everything. From the valley, the wail of sirens. The cloud cover thins to a kind of brightness.
February 13, 2023
The western ridge turns barn-red with sunrise. As it fades to gold, down in the hollow a mob of crows starts up, jeering, denouncing.
February 13, 2022
Cold and gray. A commotion of wings by the springhouse where breakfast eludes a Cooper’s hawk. He sits in the crabapple ruffling his feathers.
February 13, 2021
Half an hour after sunrise, birds crowd into the crabapple beside the spring, flitting quick as thought through the network of branches.
February 13, 2019
In the blowing snow, a mixed flock of winter birds drifts into the currant bushes, trailed by the resident jay and his one rusty note.

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