The Morning Porch

March 30, 2009

Dave Bonta March 30, 2009

A new squeal from the locust trees. The wind is an eraser that works badly, and tears a hole in the woods if pressed too hard.

Dave Bonta March 29, 2009

Here in the clouds, one mourning dove has added an extra note to the beginning of his song, turning a dirge into a slow dance tune.

Dave Bonta March 28, 2009

Dark morning. The fox squirrel’s tail flickers orange from the back of the big red maple whose buds have swollen into dime-sized stoplights.

Dave Bonta March 27, 2009

The rain-soaked forest glistens in the sun, bejeweled. The air is full of traffic noise and gnats with shining wings.

Dave Bonta March 26, 2009

First rainy morning in weeks, but how quickly things turn to rust: rasp of a starling, a red-winged blackbird’s call, a scolding squirrel.

Dave Bonta March 25, 2009

A harsh cooing from the pine tree closest to the porch, like a hawk crossed with a dove. Two crows fly in, scold for a minute, and fly off.

Dave Bonta March 24, 2009

Another cold, clear morning, with just enough wind to keep my sunlit breath from blocking my view. A killdeer calls from high overhead.

Dave Bonta March 23, 2009

Cardinal song followed by gargling laughter: a starling sits at the top of a locust, its bill a gleaming needle in the deep blue sky.

Dave Bonta March 22, 2009

Over the clang of church bells, the ethereal cries of wild swans: a huge high V off to the north. Sorry, folks. G-d has left the building.

Dave Bonta March 21, 2009

Cold and clear. Looking west, I spot a bright white dot on the far side of the field: the breast of a red-tailed hawk shining in the sun.

Dave Bonta March 20, 2009

Swirling snow, swan music, song sparrow, the tapping of a woodpecker, a chipmunk’s tock tock tock—forget God. Is your moment big enough?

Dave Bonta March 19, 2009

Dark rain clouds without much rain in them. The pure notes of tundra swans drift down from the immaculate tundra of the upper air.

Dave Bonta March 18, 2009

Bluebird, white-throated sparrow, a starling’s liquid note, and high overhead, a killdeer: the sky must be blue above the fog.

Dave Bonta March 17, 2009

In the dim light of a misty morning, rain-slick surfaces glow: green lichens, purple raspberry canes, the yellow blades of foxtail millet.