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Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow

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December 8, 2007

Dave Bonta December 8, 2007

Two degrees above freezing and the snow has lost all its magic. The roof drips. Old footprints grow round and dark as spots on dice.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow

December 7, 2007

Dave Bonta December 7, 2007

White ground, white sky, and in the treetops seven crows gather for a noisy meeting. One of them keeps chanting the same, 5-syllable phrase.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow

December 6, 2007

Dave Bonta December 6, 2007

Clear and very cold. I hear squirrel teeth on walnut shell. The Carolina wren’s happiness motor turns over once, twice, then putts to life.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged Carolina wren, gray squirrel

December 5, 2007

Dave Bonta December 5, 2007

Two nuthatches trade insults from adjacent trees, yelling through their noses like warring doormen in their blue-gray livery.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged white-breasted nuthatch

December 4, 2007

Dave Bonta December 4, 2007

The wind no longer howls, but now the merest breeze provokes a chorus of moans and shrieks. The oaks are finally almost all naked.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow

December 3, 2007

Dave Bonta December 3, 2007

Sometime in the night the rain stopped, the temperature edged above freezing, and all the new armor fell from the trees. Snow in the air.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow

December 2, 2007

Dave Bonta December 2, 2007

Quiet except for the distant moan of a truck’s brakes and the staticky sound of sleet, giving way to a heavier ordnance of freezing rain.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged trucks

December 1, 2007

Dave Bonta December 1, 2007

Scarlet oak leaf: blown sideways, it still manages to get a few spirals in. Bluejay: it takes me a second to recognize its solitary note.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow

November 30, 2007

Dave Bonta November 30, 2007

Rising late, I get a faceful of sun. I watch the resident naturalist’s blaze-orange vest and cap appearing and disappearing among the trees.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged Mom

November 29, 2007

Dave Bonta November 29, 2007

“Crepuscular”: such a weird word, conjuring up ancient forests, twisted mossy forms. Not this dawn, filled with the noise of trucks.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged trucks

November 28, 2007

Dave Bonta November 28, 2007

To see the sunrise, I have to walk to the edge of the porch and look west: red ridge, the gibbous moon high overhead, a pair of ravens.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged raven, sunrise

November 27, 2007

Dave Bonta November 27, 2007

Shifting patterns of gray in a sky that has just stopped raining. A crow caws seven times. Suddenly everything acquires an orange tint.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow

November 26, 2007

Dave Bonta November 26, 2007

—Every season is deer season; this is the opening day of rifle season. —Where are the rifles, then? —Zipped up in their cases, staying dry.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged deer

November 25, 2007

Dave Bonta November 25, 2007

Clear, cold and very still. Sun in the treetops. A black cat steals out from underneath the porch and sets off all the squirrel alarms.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow
Tagged gray squirrel

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On This Day

  • July 27, 2024
    Sun in the treetops. I try to re-find the half moon—nothing but goldfinches.
  • July 27, 2023
    A wood thrush is singing in the distance. I shoo away the mosquito singing in my ear to listen.
  • July 27, 2022
    Sun rising into clouds. The mob of wild garlic heads in the meadow are beginning to shed their white hoods.
  • July 27, 2021
    Cool beginning to a hot day. I can’t stop watching the hummingbird sphinx moths, their retractable drinking straws as quick as thought.
  • July 27, 2016
    Two chipmunks in the woods locked in a rap battle fall in and out of sync. The chipmunk in the garden listens from atop the…

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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Detail from Paper Garden by Clive Hicks-Jenkins (used by permission)

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