The Morning Porch

May 20, 2009 by Dave Bonta

A new birdsong at sunrise: “Pleased pleased pleased to MEETcha!” Likewise, I mutter, trying to place the name. Ah—chestnut-sided warbler.

May 19, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Strong sun, and the air so clear, I can see the tiniest floating krill. A cranefly seems enormous—until a pileated woodpecker flops in.

May 18, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Half a degree above freezing at sunrise, and the sky is as clear as it gets. A towhee sings a backwards version of its song.

May 17, 2009 by Dave Bonta

A red-eyed vireo beside the porch with his back to the cold wind, neck feathers buffeted into a crest, singing in the weak sunlight.

May 16, 2009 by Dave Bonta

A phoebe hovers beside its nest under the springhouse eaves, then lands above it, bug still in beak, tail like a tapping foot: ah, marriage.

May 15, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Sun through fog. Animals emerge and vanish like actors in a play, bringing their cries and silences: goldfinches, a raven, a pair of deer.

May 14, 2009 by Dave Bonta

A pair of tanagers foraging in the rain. The scarlet male trails the drab female onto a branch two feet from the porch, returning my gaze.

May 13, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Two male indigo buntings, twice as blue as the sky, clash in the air and land on adjacent branches. One sings, the other flies off.

May 12, 2009 by Dave Bonta

April’s solitary vireo and brown thrasher have been replaced by red-eyed vireo and catbird—an adagio movement giving way to an allegro.

May 11, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Squabbling squirrels just in from the edge of the woods are almost invisible among the new leaves, except for a gray tail’s flicker.

May 10, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Backlit by the morning sun: new leaves, the wings of a vulture, my mother’s t-shirts flapping like irreverent prayer flags on the line.

May 9, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Glimpses of a tanager, a catbird, two goldfinches, and a hummingbird taking a shit. Each tree is still in possession of its own green.

May 8, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Up half the night watching the moon, I start the day by clearing a dead tree that collapsed onto the road, blocking the meter reader man.

May 7, 2009 by Dave Bonta

I breathe deeply each time the white lilac’s scent wafts across the yard. Behind it, through the half-leafed-out trees, shards of white sky.