Dave Bonta

Sunday April 07, 2019

Dave Bonta April 7, 2019 0

Mid-morning, and it’s already too warm for a sweater. I count six, seven, eight bird calls blending into one—except for the crow’s off note.

Dave Bonta April 6, 2019 0

Robin song echoes through the fog. My neighbor drives past on the tractor. In the wake of its rumble, a towhee’s eponymous call.

Dave Bonta April 5, 2019 0

Rain seasoned with sleet. The trapped balloons hang limply from their dead tree, wrinkled like over-ripe fruit.

Dave Bonta April 4, 2019 0

Squirrels sound the predator alarm, and a song sparrow in the lilac stays motionless for minutes, until I’m half-convinced it’s just a burl.

Dave Bonta April 3, 2019 0

The dead are restless, through no fault of their own: last year’s leaves shuffled about by the wind. But the sun is strong. A phoebe calls.

Dave Bonta April 2, 2019 0

Neither hot nor cold, and the sun’s neither out nor in. The daffodil spears look just a little taller, and the moss maybe a bit more bright.

Dave Bonta April 1, 2019 0

Wind turns the pages of my notebook. The sun is bright, and I’m feeling happy for the small woodpecker who’s found a very loud branch.

Dave Bonta March 31, 2019 0

Snow mixed with sleet. The feral balloons have wrapped themselves more tightly around their tree—a classic trade of freedom for security.

Dave Bonta March 30, 2019 0

Distant gunshots from the shooting range in the valley. The impression of rising excitement in a field sparrow’s song.

Dave Bonta March 29, 2019 0

Warmish and rainy. From the valley to the east: a great blue heron with its sword-blade wings, its spring-loaded neck. A killdeer’s call.