A Beautiful November Day On Our Tanuri Ridge Patio — Image by kenne
I once thought a good day
required a destination.
A trail, perhaps,
or a road disappearing into the mountains.
Now I find myself
sitting on our patio at Tanuri Ridge,
watching the light move
from one hillside to another.
Apparently, I have arrived.
Osprey on a Crossbeam — Image by kenne
On a crossbeam above the harbor,
the osprey sits like a weathered sheriff,
watching Puerto Peñasco go about its business.
Below, men chase money and tourists chase sunsets.
He has no such foolishness.
The Sea of Cortez is his territory,
and lunch is somewhere beneath the waves.
American Coot, Sweetwater Wetlands — Image by kenne
No hurry, no destination,
just a coot drifting
between the reeds.
The morning opens around it,
and the pond keeps
its secrets to itself.
A Saguaros Congregation in Sabino Canyon — Image by kenne
They stand together
through drought and monsoon,
through the long arithmetic
of seasons and years.
A congregation without pews,
without doctrine,
yet faithful to the sun.
Curved-billed Thrasher atop a Damaged Saguaro — Image by kenne
One curved beak,
one damaged cactus,
one enormous morning.
The thrasher pours its music
into the desert air,
where even broken things
can become beautiful.
Anna’s Hummingbird — Image by kenne
A flash of green,
a throat full of ruby,
wings beating faster than thought.
For one brief moment
the bird and the sunlight
agreed to be photographed.
Blue Moon Art (Early 1990’s) — Image by kenne
In the late 1980s, Robbie Robertson released a song, “Somewhere Down the Crazy River.”
I loved the song so much in the early 1990s that I created the art image, which I titled “Blue Moon.”
The distant red neon shivered in the heat
I was feeling like a stranger in a strange land
You know where people play games with the night
God, it was too hot to sleep
I followed the sound of a jukebox coming from up the levee
All of a sudden I could hear somebody whistling from right behind me
I turned around and she said
“Why do you always end up down at Nick’s Cafe?”
I said “I don’t know, the wind just kind of pushed me this way”
She said “Hang the rich”
Catch the blue train
Places never been before
Look for me somewhere down the crazy river
(Somewhere down the crazy river)
Ooh, catch the blue train
All the way to Kokomo
You can find me somewhere down the crazy river
See you somewhere down the crazy river.
Spinose Teeth; Thorns, Spines, and Prickles — Image by kenne
Every desert plant
comes with a disclaimer:
Handle with care.
Admire from a distance.
Do not mistake
the green for an invitation.
Out here, survival
is sometimes just
the art of being
difficult to embrace.
Autumn Seeds — Image by kenne
Autumn invites us to slow down,
to breathe together,
to rediscover the poetry of a gentle touch.
Love isn’t measured in years,
but in moments when two hearts
remember how to dance.
Viceroy on a Buttombush — Image by kenne
The Viceroy has traveled
farther than the flower will ever know.
Yet here, in late summer’s fading light,
it asks for nothing more
than a place to rest.
Perhaps wisdom begins
when we learn the same.
The Season Waits — Image by kenne
At the trailhead, the desert.
Above us, the leaves let go.
We climb between them,
carrying summer’s warmth into the dark.
Cactus holds the afternoon
while aspens loosen their light.
One wheel, turning
through different rooms of the world.
The Color of Wet Wood on the Forest Floor — Image by kenne
Once dry, gray branch—
rain darkens the grain.
Color returns
on the forest floor,
for a little while,
the branch blooms again.
Open Shutters — Image by kenne
The shutters open
and morning enters slowly—
dust, birdsong, the smell
of coffee crossing the room.
On the adobe wall,
sunlight warms the clay.
Beyond it, the border
is a line on a map
and a thousand lived stories.
Canyon Morning-Glory Grunge Art — Image by kenne
Dust on the petals,
sun in its face—
the flower blooms
without asking permission.
Clouds Above Windy Point — Image by kenne
Windy Point offers a sweeping panorama
that stretches beyond the viewfinder.
We take a picture anyway,
because apparently humans enjoy
reducing impressive things to rectangles.
