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The Morning Porch

Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow

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Dave Bonta

July 30, 2024 by Dave Bonta

A white sky with a bright gash of sun. The red-eyed vireo falls silent, leaving only two crickets, one who chirps and one who trills. Then, inevitably, the wren.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags Carolina wren, clouds, crickets, red-eyed vireo 2 Comments
July 29, 2024 by Dave Bonta

A cabbage white butterfly dances in a patch of sun—the method to a madness of perfectly random moves. An annual cicada’s slowly falling note.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags cabbage white butterfly, cicadas
July 28, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Another cool morning for a day forecast to be hot. A Carolina wren lands on the railing and cocks his head at me. A screech owl calls in the distance.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags Carolina wren, screech owl
July 27, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Sun in the treetops. I try to re-find the half moon—nothing but goldfinches.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags American goldfinch, moon, sunrise
July 26, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Crystal-clear and cold. A mourning dove calls from the woods’ edge. A small patch of sun appears among the bracken, making a drought-struck frond twice as yellow.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags bracken, mourning dove
July 25, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Cloudy and damp, with long intervals between bird calls. A small woodpecker’s improbably loud rattle from the black locusts sets off a pair of Carolina wrens.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags black locust, Carolina wren, downy woodpecker
July 24, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Overcast and still. A yellow walnut leaflet flutters down onto the fallen trunk of my favorite climbing tree when I was a kid.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags black walnut, clouds
July 23, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Tree crickets rather than birdsong: it feels like late summer already. But after yesterday’s soaking rain, leaves no longer droop. I can smell the earth.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags crickets, drought, rain
July 22, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Cool and still with thin clouds. On the road-bank, a gray squirrel noses about in the leaves, as if searching its memory.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags clouds, gray squirrel
July 21, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Cool and partly cloudy. A fledgling wren at the woods’ edge begs to be fed—an interrogatory whine. The mob of feral garlic heads are splitting their hoods.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags Carolina wren, garlic
July 20, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Sun on leaves fading from shine to sheen. Sound is still out of the east: the slowly expanding crater swallowing farms and forests. It rumbles. It shakes.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags clouds, quarry
July 19, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Clear and still, except for the distant beeping of quarry trucks. A common yellowthroat darts through the lilac bush, foraging for breakfast. A gray squirrel sounds the hawk alarm.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags common yellowthroat, gray squirrel, lilac, quarry
July 18, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Partly cloudy and cool. After yesterday evening’s brief rains, the happiness of the plants in my yard is nearly palpable. Formerly desiccated bergamot blossoms have swollen back into bloom.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags bergamot, drought, rain
July 17, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Cloudy at sunrise. The bump bump of a groundhog returning to a burrow under the house. A dragonfly cuts back and forth across the yard.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags dragonflies, groundhog, sunrise
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On This Day

  • December 4, 2024
    After an orange sunrise, in the ordinary light of an overcast morning, the mechanical tapping of a downy woodpecker, the slow wingbeats of a raven.
  • December 4, 2023
    A mottled gray sky all the way to the horizon, not brightening even for the sunrise, let alone for the crows with their many complaints…
  • December 4, 2022
    Still haunted by dreams I can’t remember when the sun clears the ridge and sets the clouds of my breath aglow.
  • December 4, 2021
    Clear except for two contrails, fuzzy with age. Another scrap of gray paper has fallen from the old hornets’ nest, its lines blank as ever.
  • December 4, 2020
    The snow has shrunk to a few spots the low sun doesn’t reach. In the herb bed, the only white is a pile of clippings…

See all...

Related book

Cover of Ice Mountain with a linocut of a big ridgetop tree.

What I do after I sit on the porch. One winter and spring's daily walks distilled into short poems with linocut illustrations by Beth Adams.

Header image: detail from Paper Garden by Clive Hicks-Jenkins (used by permission)

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