assassin bug – The Morning Porch

August 17, 2016 by Dave Bonta

A yellow tulip tree leaf lies face-down on the porch floor. Nearby, an assassin bug crouches like a martial artist when I move my foot.

August 10, 2011 by Dave Bonta

Power out, I spend the morning on the porch. A large, black assassin bug lands on the sunny side of a column and stalks up toward the roof.

October 15, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Cold rain rattles in the leaves. On the side of the house, an assassin bug with huge hind legs—about to die, it seems, with his boots on.

August 18, 2025
Breezy and cool. The white lilac, with at least 75% of its leaves dead from disease, is bizarrely in blossom again, with at least five full-sized clusters, white as flags signalling surrender.
August 18, 2024
Everything drips and glistens after last night’s storm. Red-bellied woodpeckers exchange calls then lapse into silence. A distant train.
August 18, 2023
Just after 8:00, the sun breaks through the clouds and a breeze springs up. From the powerline, the hollow knocks of a pileated woodpecker breakfasting on ants.
August 18, 2022
Crystal-clear, with leaves still wet from rain: I carry a chair up into the woods, luxuriate in the shimmering green and gold.
August 18, 2021
Rain and warblers. An earth-shaking blast from the quarry two miles away. The soft susurrus of tree crickets.