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Thursday February 11, 2021

Dave Bonta February 11, 2021 0

Another four inches of light powder. We are rich in snow now. The soundtrack is mostly woodpeckers: downy, pileated, red-bellied.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged downy woodpecker, pileated woodpecker, red-bellied woodpecker, snow

Wednesday February 10, 2021

Dave Bonta February 10, 2021 0

Overcast. I contemplate the artificial mountain of snow in my yard, its boneless white. Imagine if it were blubber—how the birds would feast.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged snow

Tuesday February 09, 2021

Dave Bonta February 9, 2021 0

Fine snow. Cleaning the dust off my glasses, everything blurs together: white sky, white ground, the noise of trains and sparrows.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged snow, train

Monday February 08, 2021

Dave Bonta February 8, 2021 0

Bitter cold (-16°C) and still. The rising sun appears in a tiny gap between the trees as if this is all we’re allotted, this bristly thing.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged cold, sunrise

Sunday February 07, 2021

Dave Bonta February 7, 2021 0

Fine snow begins to fall. A squirrel is leaping through the treetops as if on some other white powder. Wakening nuthatches compare notes.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged gray squirrel, snow, white-breasted nuthatch

Saturday February 06, 2021

Dave Bonta February 6, 2021 0

Sunrise and the clouds turn pink as the waning crescent moon turns pale. A squirrel way up in the woods begins its trek to the bird feeder.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged gray squirrel, moon, sunrise

Friday February 05, 2021

Dave Bonta February 5, 2021 2

One degree above freezing, and the last icicle has turned dull as the eye of a dead fish. As I watch, it trembles in the breeze and lets go.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged icicles

Thursday February 04, 2021

Dave Bonta February 4, 2021 0

A crow mob on the move—their angry cries. Sun stripes the snow. I hold my head still to watch the slowly shifting points of glitter.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged crows, snow

Wednesday February 03, 2021

Dave Bonta February 3, 2021 0

This is winter as I remember it from my childhood: more than a foot of drifting snow at 20°F. The Carolina wren is singing under the house.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged Carolina wren, snow, wind

Tuesday February 02, 2021

Dave Bonta February 2, 2021 0

The snowstorm over, it’s quiet, except for the wind. A cardinal shelters in a barberry bush, as red as the berries had been.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged cardinal, snow, snowstorm, wind

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On this date

    March 3, 2020

    Rain thickening. Puddles in the driveway acquire something like feathers, as if the water is already preparing for its return trip. …

    March 3, 2019

    Sky and ground both flat white. A squirrel missing a quarter of her tail is fossicking through the snow, ignored by a high-speed chipmunk. …

    March 3, 2018

    Titmouse, chickadee, wren. I squint into the sun. The bitter wind rattles the cover of the magazine beside me—which, I notice, is Rattle. …

    March 3, 2017

    A classic snow shower—the air filled with fat, slow-moving flakes—peters out, followed by more flakes blowing like dandruff off the trees. …

    March 3, 2016

    My ears are still adjusting to the lack of urban noise. Crow, chickadee, red-bellied woodpecker. The stream's slow gurgle under the yard. …

    March 3, 2015

    I come out to find my chair at the end of the porch and turned to the north. A jay is doing his best to reply to a raven's imperious croaks. …

    March 3, 2014

    Fresh from drinking out of the cold stream, a chickadee swipes its bill rapidly against a twig, then goes to join the others in the birches. …

    March 3, 2013

    Cloudy and cold. From over at the neighbors', the low rumbling of a large machine and the excited shrieks of children eddy on the wind. …

    March 3, 2011

    Three days past the last rain, the creek sings in a lower key, like a boy turning into a man. Free of silt, it's learning how to be blue. …

    March 3, 2010

    A wet spring snow clings to everything and coats both ends of the porch, where something very tiny has left an arrow-straight trail of dots. …

    March 3, 2009

    Cold air, bright sun. Snow-motes drift down from a cloudless sky. A mourning dove's song. Dad calls to tell me Mom's having dizzy spells. …

    March 3, 2008

    When angels announce the coming of spring, they use flutes: faint calls of tundra swans filter down from above the rose-tinged clouds. …

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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.

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