hoarfrost – The Morning Porch/Patio

Monday January 15, 2018

Dave Bonta January 15, 2018

In the weak sun, the icicles on the eaves are dull as plastic. A fine fur of frost coating the tree branches reminds me of my housekeeping.

Dave Bonta January 1, 2018

Trees and dead weeds alike have grown a fine fur of hoarfrost. There’s no human noise for nearly ten minutes. Then a distant military jet.

Dave Bonta December 20, 2016

Thick hoarfrost gives the sun rising through the trees a soft, glittery nimbus, and the aging snowpack has regained the sparkle of youth.

Dave Bonta January 13, 2014

A faint dust of frost on the old goldenrod stalks along the creek. A crow chases a crow, yells breaking in the middle like a boy at puberty.

Dave Bonta January 3, 2013 2

Sparkles on the snow seem to float on another plane. Tree branches closest to the sun shine like knights in armor from the rime.

Dave Bonta November 21, 2012

Melting hoarfrost drips like rain. I watch one glistening drop change from red to yellow to violet as the sun inches into the deep blue sky.

Dave Bonta December 3, 2011 3

Every branch and twig is white with rime, and overhead, a latticework of contrails. Three crows skim the treetops on their way to a mobbing.

Dave Bonta November 2, 2011 1

I listen closely to the sparrow calls, trying to hear the white-crowned’s pink, and sit long enough to watch the hoarfrost turn to shine.

Dave Bonta October 31, 2011 2

Hoarfrost on every grass blade, branch and twig, as if the world has suddenly aged overnight. A white-throated sparrow’s tremulous song.

Dave Bonta February 23, 2011 9

Backlit by the sun, a hoarfrosted forest with ice still glittering underneath. I gape and run for my camera, a tourist on my own porch.