The Morning Porch

June 18, 2009

Dave Bonta June 18, 2009

The black-robed cowbird at the top of the dead elm burbles authoritatively, like the Grand Ayatollah of the yard taking credit for the rain.

Dave Bonta June 17, 2009

Breezy, overcast, a spit of rain—these reports never seem complete without the weather. The buzz of a hummingbird. A common yellowthroat.

Dave Bonta June 16, 2009

A robin refurbishing an old nest lands each time on the lowest branch and labors up the ladder of limbs with his beakful of dead grass.

Dave Bonta June 15, 2009

A golden light straight out of the Kabbalah, where two angels attend every grass blade—one singing like a vireo, the other, a quarry truck.

Dave Bonta June 14, 2009

In the half-light, the soft crunch of gravel: a bear-shaped shadow ambles up the road, turns onto my walk, stops in front of my door. Waits.

Dave Bonta June 13, 2009

Gray sky. The lilac catbird lands beside the porch to scold me, as if it had just become aware of my presence. Its young must’ve fledged.

Dave Bonta June 12, 2009

The sky is pretending to be blue, but I don’t buy it. A hummingbird may land on a dead branch, but that’s the only green it’s going to get.

Dave Bonta June 11, 2009

The leaves of a yellow dock plant next to the porch have curled like tongues into makeshift shelters for hundreds of tiny, hungry guests.

Dave Bonta June 10, 2009

Six goldfinches flip-flop-fly through the treetops at top speed, twittering nonstop, and swoop with a loop de loop into the lilac.

Dave Bonta June 9, 2009

In the tall grass beside the road, two yellow iris—last survivors of that phalanx planted 30 years ago, when we still dreamt of order.

Dave Bonta June 8, 2009

A yellow jacket inspects the spot where the hornet nest I destroyed last week had hung: traces of gray paper in the shape of a rose.

Dave Bonta June 7, 2009

The cerulean warbler sounds rushed as always. A chipmunk watches me for ten minutes, stationed like a sentry on the rock next to the porch.

Dave Bonta June 6, 2009

A mosquito lands her drilling rig on my wrist. Warblers whisper in the treetops. The first peony, beaded with rain, bowing to the blue sky.

Dave Bonta June 5, 2009

Towhee, robin, catbird, great-crested flycatcher: birdsongs sound more vivid in the rain, like jazz solos rising over a surf of applause.