gray squirrel – Page 30 – The Morning Porch

August 7, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Cool and clear, except for the small cloud hiding the sun. In the woods, the sound of a very localized shower—squirrel weather, no doubt.

July 13, 2009 by Dave Bonta

The doe with twins pauses to graze a multiflora rose. The lead fawn follows suit, and I want to cheer. Invasive-eating culture transmitted!

June 21, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Up early enough to catch the end of the shortest night of the year, alive with wind and gurgling water, fireflies, a lone spring peeper.

June 11, 2009 by Dave Bonta

The leaves of a yellow dock plant next to the porch have curled like tongues into makeshift shelters for hundreds of tiny, hungry guests.

June 3, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Overcast and still. A soft thump up in the woods must be either a body or a piece of tree well into the slow fever of its afterlife.

May 31, 2009 by Dave Bonta

A squirrel running on the roof above my head: the rhythm of hoofbeats in the paintings of horses from when they were still thought to bound.

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 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.

April 27, 2009 by Dave Bonta

An inversion layer brings traffic noise into the dawn chorus. Large gnats land on my arm. A squirrel sits on the head of the concrete dog.

April 10, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Twenty minutes after the feral cat disappeared under the porch, the squirrel still scolds. Rain is a soft patter of lead shot—or so I wish.

March 28, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Dark morning. The fox squirrel’s tail flickers orange from the back of the big red maple whose buds have swollen into dime-sized stoplights.

March 26, 2009 by Dave Bonta

First rainy morning in weeks, but how quickly things turn to rust: rasp of a starling, a red-winged blackbird’s call, a scolding squirrel.

March 13, 2009 by Dave Bonta

Clear and cold at sunrise. The feral cat slinks across the springhouse meadow. Muffled sounds of a squirrel scolding from inside its drey.

April 15, 2013March 7, 2009 by Dave Bonta

A warm morning—53°F. A Cooper’s hawk calls, a screech owl trills, but the squirrels go on rummaging through the leaf litter. I spy a gnat.