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The Morning Porch

Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow

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February 21, 2010

Dave Bonta February 21, 2010

The nasal call of a jay became the soundtrack of happiness one sun-drenched afternoon of my childhood. The place is gone now—a subdivision.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged blue jays

February 20, 2010

Dave Bonta February 20, 2010 1

Fresh excavations in the yard—a puzzle. Have the deer developed a taste for myrtle, the green of its leathery leaves under all that snow?

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged deer, myrtle

February 19, 2010

Dave Bonta February 19, 2010

Late morning, and the gray gives way to deepest blue. Treetops clack like rib-bone castanets, gleaming in the sun.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow

February 18, 2010

Dave Bonta February 18, 2010

The dog statue in the yard is still buried except for its vigilant tail. On either side, the excavations of deer.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged deer, dog statue

February 17, 2010

Dave Bonta February 17, 2010

I strain to hear the waking birds, but sound is out of the west: cars, trucks, winter tires—the fossil-fueled Fat Tuesday that never ends.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged noise, trucks

February 16, 2010

Dave Bonta February 16, 2010

Fine powder on the wind. The locust tree at the woods’ edge is suddenly full of creaks, like a lapsed Trappist relearning how to talk.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged black locust

February 15, 2010

Dave Bonta February 15, 2010

Bright midmorning. Among the shadows in my yard, one patch of light that’s almost barren of sparkles: reflection from a second-story window.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow

February 14, 2010

Dave Bonta February 14, 2010

Gray mid-morning, and the sound of bells comes and goes on the wind. A downy woodpecker telegraphs his hunger from a limb of the big maple.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged downy woodpecker

February 13, 2010

Dave Bonta February 13, 2010

My eyes water from lack of sleep, and the sun too looks bleary, shining through clouds. A sudden loud sigh from the vicinity of the pines.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged white pines

February 12, 2010

Dave Bonta February 12, 2010

A silent ordnance drifting on the wind crumbles on impact against my legs. I suddenly realize I haven’t heard a Carolina wren in weeks.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged Carolina wren

February 11, 2010

Dave Bonta February 11, 2010

Foot-deep drifts across the porch, and the western ridge is plastered white. Above the snow-banshees, I hear blue jays calling.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged blue jays, snowstorm

February 10, 2010

Dave Bonta February 10, 2010

Wind-whipped snow. I imagine a pep-talk in the cloud nursery: You’re a star! You’re unique! And no mention of gray mounds in a parking lot.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged snowflakes, snowstorm

February 9, 2010

Dave Bonta February 9, 2010

The soft trills of a screech owl an hour before dawn. I sip my coffee as quietly as I can.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged coffee, screech owl

February 8, 2010

Dave Bonta February 8, 2010

It’s one of those perfect winter mornings from my childhood: bright sun on deep snow and even the shadows sparkling as I shake my head.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged snow

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On This Day

  • October 18, 2024
    Dawn light with sparrow song. The full moon of my insomnia still glows above the western ridge as blood dries on the mousetrap under the…
  • October 18, 2023
    A flat white sky crossed by a crow. Woods’-edge chipmunks in a chipping contest. The color.
  • October 18, 2022
    A cold and windy dawn. The crescent moon drowns in a sorcery of pink.
  • October 18, 2021
    Sunrise. Fingers of orange light through orange leaves. After the furnace cycles off, the silence seems enormous.
  • October 18, 2020
    A squirrel on the porch spots a squirrel in the yard, who freezes. S/he walks slowly under my propped-up legs and down to a silent…

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.

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