graupel – The Morning Porch

January 16, 2019 by Dave Bonta

A dusting of fresh graupel, and more flying past: like large grains of salt, or snowflakes which, tragically, are in no way unique.

November 25, 2024
Just as my moonlit shadow slips away into the dawn, the Carolina wrens who roost beside the laundry room door start up, with a brassy…
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Cold and still for the opening day of rifle season. Distant booms set the crows off. The sun is a bright smudge in a sky…
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Warm rain. The snow has shrunk to a few scrofulous patches in the woods. Half an hour before sunrise, a bluebird is singing.
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No frost for the first time in weeks. Sunrise hidden by clouds, signaled by a slight brightening and a lively exchange between three nuthatches.
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A rustling in the fallen leaves turns out to be the briefest of showers. The sky brightens. I practice looking at trees as if for…