mosquito

Sunday September 16, 2018

Dave Bonta September 16, 2018 0

Sun! The meadow glows goldenrod-yellow. Birch leaves at the woods’ edge tremble with warblers. A mosquito sings her thirsty note in my ear.

Thursday September 08, 2016

Dave Bonta September 8, 2016

The scattered creaks of red-winged blackbirds off in the woods. A mosquito wanders over my shirt, testing the fabric with her frail drill.

Wednesday July 20, 2016

Dave Bonta July 20, 2016

High in the trees, a small cloud of gnats yoyoing up and down, backlit by the sun, while an itch grows on my hand where a mosquito drills.

Sunday June 05, 2016

Dave Bonta June 5, 2016

Phoebes mate in the rain, their thin branch bobbing as they touch tails. I crush a slow flood-water mosquito with a clap of my hands.

Saturday May 14, 2016

Dave Bonta May 14, 2016 1

International Migratory Bird Day. From a tall locust, the lazy call of an eastern wood pewee—last migrant back. A mosquito pierces my cheek.

Friday July 10, 2015

Dave Bonta July 10, 2015 2

Overcast and cool, with lower humidity at last. Still, the world gets much too close: mosquito in my ear, deer tick traversing my laptop.

Thursday June 11, 2015

Dave Bonta June 11, 2015

Silver-spotted skippers work the last dame’s-rocket, and a day-time cricket begins to chirp. I slap myself in the chest to kill a mosquito.

September 20, 2017
Crystal-clear sky crossed by flocks of goldfinches. Church bells clang the 8 o'clock hour, a sad exultation that once meant time for school.
September 20, 2016
The sun moves through the foggy woods like a spider at the center of her web. The hollow tocks of chipmunks up and down the hillside.
September 20, 2015
Clear and cold after last night's showers. In the garden, the asters are all pinched shut like collapsed eyes with long, purple lashes.
September 20, 2014
The clack of acorns hitting branches on their way to the ground. I'm beating myself up trying to kill a mosquito reconnoitering my torso.
September 20, 2013
The thin fog turns blue before disappearing. At the woods' edge, ants rise on filmy wings like a curl of smoke.
September 20, 2012
Two flocks of local geese flying in tandem, one following each ridge, skimming the treetops: their raucous cries come from all directions.
September 20, 2011
The walnut trees are already losing their leaves, turning into grotesquely well-hung skeletons a-tremble with squirrels.
September 20, 2010
Sitting in the garden while the porch's new coat of paint dries, I notice the peony leaves too have turned red. A waxwing's glossy calls.
September 20, 2009
The door under the porch is ajar, as if a bear or burglar had been there. Strangled cries from overhead: a crow diving at a slow hawk.
September 20, 2008
A gray, cold morning. The rusty-hinge scolding of a squirrel multiplies and turns into a flock of grackles, pivoting on its thousand wings.