Dave Banta, a poet who lives in Plummer’s Hollow, Pennsylvania, has a Morning Porch blog, where he reports on each morning in haiku-like poetry.  I too go out each morning to greet the day.  In Austin, it was first on the front stoop, and later on the back screen porch we built.  The view was the street (a charming neighborhood of bungalows built mostly in the 30s and 40s) or the back yard (the backs of bungalows and, fortunately, lots of trees and other green things.)

PorchHere, we have a stone patio that looks out over the West Fork valley and the ridges beyond, with Norway spruces, sweet gum, and maples in the foreground. It looks out to the southeast, so in the morning, I can see the sunrise, in the evening, the sunset.  I can just see the long stretch of the river winding around the bottom of the hill.  My grown children, raised in mostly-flat Texas, described the yard as a cliff when they first saw it.  I take my cappuccino and see what the day has brought.  This morning, it was 10°, but with blue sky, sun, and fluffy clouds.  The local deer wandered through (just four now – one lay down and died in a neighbor’s yard last month – the one he called Hillary because whatever he did to discourage her eating his plants, she wouldn’t give up).

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