deer

Sunday April 08, 2018

Dave Bonta April 8, 2018 1

Weak sunlight and the creek’s quiet gurgle. I think of the dead deer up in the field, her throat torn open by coyotes, feeding their songs.

Sunday February 11, 2018

Dave Bonta February 11, 2018

An ostinato of dripping on the porch roof. The fog advances, retreats. Somewhere a deer snorts. Drenched squirrels bound over the slush.

Wednesday January 03, 2018

Dave Bonta January 3, 2018

Deer came in the night and dug up half the yard to get at the evergreen myrtle. Sun pours down from a cloudless sky. A song sparrow sings.

Friday December 15, 2017

Dave Bonta December 15, 2017

A cold gray day. Juncos forage on the road and in the yard where a deer has dug. The dull knocks of a pileated woodpecker trepanning an oak.

Thursday November 09, 2017

Dave Bonta November 9, 2017

Cloudy and cold. The quiet tapping of a downy woodpecker. A deer hunter appears, his bloody quarry sliding behind him on the fallen leaves.

Monday October 23, 2017

Dave Bonta October 23, 2017

Brighter color between the trees: sunrise. Gray as their trunks: a doe and her grown fawns. From down hollow, a screech owl’s trill.

Wednesday April 05, 2017

Dave Bonta April 5, 2017 1

Deer follow their long-legged shadows through the trees. Three phoebes chase through the branches and three chipmunks through the leaf duff.

April 25, 2017
The old cherry stump beside the porch has once again attracted a pair of nest-minded chickadees. They pop in and out of its many holes.
April 25, 2016
High clouds spread and thicken—slow yeast in a blue bowl. A hornet hovers behind my head, buzzing like an alarm clock I can't turn off.
April 25, 2015
A ruffed grouse drums and a field sparrow sings with almost the same accelerating rhythm. The hollow gurgle of the stream under the yard.
April 25, 2014
Two male flickers fighting over the dead elm and its den-hole joust in the garden, jabbing and feinting with their long bills.
April 25, 2013
A series of high-pitched howls from down in the hollow: coyotes or children? It's hard to tell. I watch a silent, nearly motionless crow.
April 25, 2012
Sun strikes the top of the tulip tree—half-grown leaves vibrating in the wind. In the road, the severed hindquarters of a rabbit.
April 25, 2011
A white haze on the bank above the road: the shadbush is finally beginning to blossom. A brown thrasher in the yard says everything twice.
April 25, 2010
Sometime past 7:30, the birds fall silent for half a minute and there's only fog, a slow drip from leaves no larger than squirrels' ears.
April 25, 2009
Kitchen: wolf spider. Bathroom: silverfish. Dining room: millipede. And right above me on the porch, a gnatcatcher lands and sings.
April 25, 2008
Black cherries leaf out before flowering, but this morning I notice three white spots in the one across the road: budding caterpillar tents.