Bolivian Grandma with Grandchild — Image by kenne
Your bowler hat sits
like a quiet defiance—
not loud, not pleading,
simply present.
The child leans into you,
a question not yet spoken:
Will I have to fight as you did?
You tighten the shawl—
your answer
is warmth.
— kenne
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Rose Lake in the Catalina Mountains — Image by kenne
No fish yet.
Just ripples
counting time.
He listens—
water against water,
nothing wasted.
Line in,
mind out,
both drifting.
— kenne
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Roadrunner On Patio Wall — Image by kenne
There is something mildly suspicious
about the way he freezes mid-stride,
as if someone has pressed pause
on a very small documentary.
Then—click—
he resumes,
like a thought returning
after wandering off
to check on something
it didn’t quite trust.
I imagine his mind full of notes:
check under rock,
avoid hawk,
ignore human with camera.
A tidy philosophy,
really.
— kenne
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Nude On the Deck — Sketch Art by kenne
there’s a strange relief
in having nothing left to hide behind—
no fabric excuses,
no polite disguises.
you feel the air touch everything,
like truth finally got tired of knocking
and kicked the damn door in.
they’ll call it indecent.
hell, they call everything real indecent.
— kenne
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Pressing Against The Limits — Image by kenne
One does not “understand” this.
Understanding would reduce it,
make it manageable.
Instead, it asks for duration—
for the discipline
of staying with excess.
What emerges
is not a resolution
but a sharpened awareness
of how much
we need things
to mean one thing
at a time.
— kenne
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Entrance to Jackson Station (10/19/02) — Image by kenne
October in Double Bayou
puts a sort of easy wisdom in the air.
The water moves slowly,
the herons mind their own business,
and the road to Jackson Station
looks like it has carried
more stories than pickups.
A man would be a fool
to hurry through such a place.
— kenne
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White Clouds Under a Cloud Cover — Image by kenne
No drama in this sky,
no thunder, no blaze—
just a quiet occupation
of white under gray.
The mountain breathes slowly
under its coverlet of cloud.
And something in me
loosens,
as if certainty were never
the point at all.
— kenne
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Isle of the Sun — Photo-artistry by kenne
On the Isle of the Sun
the houses lean open—
not broken, not abandoned—
the doorways don’t close
just unwilling to keep anything in.
Each window
leans forward,
hungry for light,
for the shimmer of the lake
breathing sky back into itself.
I stand in one threshold
and feel the old stories
press through my ribs.
I walk through a room
and the sun walks with me—
no permission asked.
And still—
the openings remain,
wide, insistent,
as if to say:
nothing we love
was ever meant
to stay contained.
And the lake—
always the lake—
keeps answering
with a brightness
that does not belong to me
but enters anyway.
— kenne
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Great Horned Owl — Image by kenne
Feathers the color of dust and bark,
perfect camouflage—
until the eyes ignite.
He looks through me
like I’m another passing nuisance.
Out here, I am.
— kenne
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Richardson’s Geranium — Image by kenne
Edge of the stream—
roots hold in thin soil.
Flower beetles
working the flower
like a quiet craft.
Nothing extra here.
— kenne
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Joy Shopping in Nogales, Mexico — Image by kenne
You walk past the stalls,
shirts, saints, silver rings—
everything waiting to be chosen.
But it’s the shadows
that cling to you,
as if they know your name.
— kenne
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Abstract Art Created Two Decades Ago by kenne
Squares, circles, planes of color—disciplined, contained. The frame is not neutral; it domesticates abstraction. What once might have provoked now decorates. The eye registers order, but the mind asks: order toward what end?
— kenne
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Cocklebur Art by kenne
In the wide austerity of the Sonoran Desert
even weeds should have some dignity.
But cockleburs—
they cling, they crowd, they conquer
without grace.
I admire their tenacity,
then curse it,
then carefully walk by.
— kenne
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Clouds Over the Desert — Image by kenne
Clouds roll lazily over the desert sky,
late light bending low—
like Bob Dylan humming
through an iPhone.
Nothing to hold on to
but the way the day lets go.
— kenne
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Two Couples On the Edge — Image by kenne
Tourists whisper,
ravens circle.
Four figures at the rim,
two arm in arm
above the wide breathing earth.
Even here, at the Grand Canyon,
love tries to hold the horizon.
Click.
The photograph holds them
for a moment.
— kenne
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