The Morning Porch

February 8, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Cold not as deep as predicted due to a lid of cloud, which eases open in the east—just enough for the sun to flood the western ridge with light. The warble of a house finch.

June 16, 2025
An intensely green lushness makes an orphan out of the brown pile of juniper cuttings at the woods’ edge—last winter’s one spot of green. At 7:10, in the pouring rain, the first cicada starts up.
June 16, 2024
Cool and quiet, with the sun half-dimmed by thin clouds. A series of loud wingbeats from the forest. A gurgle from my gut.
June 16, 2023
The soft noise of steady rain; birdcalls sound half-submerged. I watch wisps of cloud drift through the yard.
June 16, 2022
Hazy and humid. The sun in the crown of the big dead maple. A hen turkey putting like slow motor, summoning her chicks.
June 16, 2021
Clear and cold (46F/8C). A few, blue chinks in the green wall of leaves where the ridgetop oaks have been decimated by gypsy moth caterpillars.

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