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The Morning Porch

Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow

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rain

December 28, 2024 by Dave Bonta

The tiny, second-string leaves the lilac put out in September have yellowed, glowing in the fog and drizzle like the bright chirps of sparrows.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags fall foliage, fog, juncos, lilac, rain, white-throated sparrow
December 24, 2024 by Dave Bonta

A fresh half-inch of snow turns the woods’ edge into calligraphy. Then an inversion layer brings traffic noise, a shimmer of freezing drizzle, the tut-tutting of a Carolina wren.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags Carolina wren, I-99, rain, snow
December 11, 2024 by Dave Bonta

A dark and rainy dawn. Will anything mark the hidden sunrise? Yes: three crows fly right over the house, yelling. The rain continues.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags American crow, rain, sunrise
December 10, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Damp and unseasonably warm. The sky brightens toward mid-morning, and the hillside’s coat of wet oak leaves begins to shine.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags rain
December 9, 2024 by Dave Bonta

The snow on the road has turned to quaking puddles. The low rumble of a freight train is the only thing audible above the downpour.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags rain, train
November 28, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Rain zebra-striped with snow; the woods more wet than white. A sodden squirrel trots down the road with a black walnut between her teeth.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags black walnut, gray squirrel, rain, snow
November 26, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Rainfall stopping by sunrise. An oak leaf comes sailing out of the woods and spirals down onto the porch. Holes in the clouds open and close like blue wounds.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags clouds, oaks, rain, sunrise, wind 1 Comment
November 24, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Light rain at sunrise swept away by a light breeze, the monochrome sky accented by a pair of ravens, and down here a nuthatch going over the rules.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags clouds, rain, raven, sunrise, white-breasted nuthatch, wind
November 21, 2024 by Dave Bonta

A red dawn, a redder sunrise, and a rain shower half an hour after that on the still-novel metal roof. I imagine a steel-pan drummer playing avant-garde calypso.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags dawn, rain, sunrise
November 15, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Every morning should come with fog like this, and the leftovers of an all-night rain still dripping onto the porch roof, and bright lichen on dark bark, and chickadees.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags fog, lichen, rain 2 Comments
November 1, 2024 by Dave Bonta

After rain in the small hours, a clearing wind at dawn. Winter wren song issues from a hole in the road bank—a quiet torrent.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags dawn, rain, winter wren
October 2, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Another dark, rainy dawn. I can’t stop thinking of my last dream before waking, in which I had died and reincarnated as a deer. I had so many legs, and everything was delicious!

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags dawn, dreams, rain 2 Comments
October 1, 2024 by Dave Bonta

The rain slackens toward mid-morning and I can hear chirps and twitters: warblers in their muted autumn colors foraging for breakfast in the treetops.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags fall warblers, rain
September 30, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Rain. The rumble of a distant jet. A squirrel crouches on a limb with her tail over her head, chiseling open a walnut.

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Categories Plummer's Hollow Tags gray squirrel, rain
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On This Day

  • September 15, 2025
    There’s more yellow than ever in the woods’ edge trees, in the spicebushes, in the meadows filled with goldenrod, and now the sun—the opposite of mellow among the yellow leaves of a black birch.
  • September 15, 2024
    Quiet and cool. A hummingbird hovers over the bright pink cover of my book: Phantom Pain Wings by Kim Hyesoon.
  • September 15, 2023
    43F/6C an hour after sunrise. Not a cloud in the sky. Black walnuts crash down at random intervals.
  • September 15, 2022
    A high cloud ceiling full of holes. In the meadow, one snakeroot flower nods: hummingbird.
  • September 15, 2021
    Dawn is its own thing—not just a transition, I think, as fog forms and grows. When it lifts, the no-longer-dark meadow glows goldenrod-yellow.

See all...

Related book

Cover of Ice Mountain with a linocut of a big ridgetop tree.

What I do after I sit on the porch. One winter and spring's daily walks distilled into short poems with linocut illustrations by Beth Adams.

Header image: detail from Paper Garden by Clive Hicks-Jenkins (used by permission)

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