The Morning Porch

June 17, 2026 by Dave Bonta

A storm at dawn has left everything sodden. A small pale spider dangles half-way between the eaves and the banister, slowly turning, occasionally waving her legs.

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June 17, 2025
The white noise of cicadas gives voice to the fog. I spot a second-year common mullein just beginning to raise her flagpole, velvety leaves wearing coats of cloud.
June 17, 2024
Clear and still. A flicker’s eponymous chant from the sunlit crown of a black locust. The black raspberries in my yard are already blood-red.
June 17, 2023
Sun through thin clouds. A silent crow skims the treetops where a cuckoo coos. Someone’s offsprings beg for more breakfast.
June 17, 2022
Wind has blown all the humidity out to sea. The forest is astir with its comings and goings, until I can barely remain seated.
June 17, 2021
The third gorgeous morning in a row. I could sit here forever, gaping at the light through the trees, if only it would last.

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