snow – The Morning Porch/Patio

Wednesday January 16, 2019

Dave Bonta January 16, 2019 0

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

Dave Bonta January 15, 2019 0

Wandering tracks of sparrows and juncos in the snow below the porch. Beyond that, bare patches pawed open by hungry deer in the night.

Dave Bonta January 14, 2019 0

Low sun on snow—even the shadows glitter. I’m feeling creaky, like the labored wingbeats of a dove starting up from the water.

Dave Bonta January 13, 2019 0

Woodpeckers big and small are tapping on trees without disturbing the snow on every branch. Hibernating insects will never hear the knock.

Dave Bonta January 10, 2019 0

The top of a dying red maple has been blown down across my walk. The wind raises a zombie army of leaves to go staggering over the snow.

Dave Bonta January 9, 2019 0

Snowflakes streaming past the house like commuters, the sun almost out, the meadow’s white fur from last night’s cold front almost all gone.

Dave Bonta January 2, 2019 0

One mound of November’s snow has survived into 2019. I’m watching a brown creeper but hearing a nuthatch—and all the voices of the stream.

Dave Bonta December 13, 2018 2

I’m reading about the haiku poet who helped lead the Rape of Nanjing. Snow melt begins to drip from the top roof: muffled artillery fire.

Dave Bonta December 9, 2018 1

On the snow-covered log beside the stream, the baby’s-handprint tracks of raccoons. A wren above the water burbling in counterpoint.

Dave Bonta December 7, 2018 2

The ground is once again white, and there’s a wind. A dry, brown oak leaf dropping from the sky rocks from side to side like a small boat.