The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta March 7, 2025

Windy, cold and clear at dawn. A song sparrow pipes up from the depths of the lilac. The ridge turns red.

Previous Post: Previous Post

Next Post: Next Post

April 7, 2024
Crystal-clear at sunrise. Every morning more yellow—daffodils, spicebush. Leftover from winter, the bone-white branches of tulip poplar that squirrels have stripped to line their dreys.
April 7, 2023
A small flock of white-breasted nuthatches appears at the woods’ edge, singing and zipping around, just as the sun is fading into gray clouds.
April 7, 2022
Dark and rainy at sunrise; ridgetop lost in fog. Down in the boggy corner of the meadow, one spring peeper is still calling.
April 7, 2021
After yesterday’s warmth, the daffodils are out by the hundreds, along with the less-celebrated bittercress, that lacy and delicate invader.
April 7, 2020
Overcast. A black vulture drifts back and forth, occasionally flapping its wings—which sets off a squirrel, vigilant against hawks.