I can’t think of bluebirds without thinking of Tom Russell’s song, “Blue Wing” — one of my favorite. Both help me see the sky above.
— kenne
Blue Wing by Tom Russell
He had a blue wing tattooed on his shoulder Well it might have been a bluebird I don’t know But he’d get stone drunk and talk about Alaska The salmon boats and 45 below
He said he got that blue wing up in Walla Walla And his cellmate there was Little Willy John And Willy he was once a great blues singer And Wing and Willy wrote ’em up a song. They said…
CHORUS: It’s dark in here; can’t see the sky But I look at this blue wing and I close my eyes And I fly away beyond these walls Up above the clouds where the rain don’t fall On a poor man’s dream.
They paroled Blue Wing in August, of 1963 He moved north picking apples to the town of Wenatchee Then winter finally caught him in a run down trailer park On the south side of Seattle where the days grow gray and dark
And he drank and he dreamt of visions when the salmon still ran free And his fathers’ fathers crossed that wild old Bering Sea And the land belonged to everyone and there were old songs yet to sing Now it’s narrowed down to a cheap hotel and a tattooed prison wing
CHORUS: It’s dark in here; can’t see the sky But I look at this blue wing and I close my eyes And I fly away beyond these walls Up above the clouds where the rain don’t fall On a poor man’s dream.
Grandsons Jax & Nick — Image by kenne from Kate’s Mobile Phone
Song of Childhood
By Peter Handke
When the child was a child
It walked with its arms swinging,
wanted the brook to be a river,
the river to be a torrent,
and this puddle to be the sea.
When the child was a child,
it didn’t know that it was a child,
everything was soulful,
and all souls were one.
When the child was a child,
it had no opinion about anything,
had no habits,
it often sat cross-legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in its hair,
and made no faces when photographed.
When the child was a child,
It was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end? Is life under the sun not…
Galveston, Texas is known for beautiful scenery and historical buildings, and widely praised as a paradise getaway. A small island with just 50,000 permanent residents, the city brings in millions of tourists every year. Walking along its streets, visitor’s attention is drawn to the diverse flora that thrives in its subtropical climate. Although not native to the island, oak trees have become the signature tree of Galveston, both for their longevity and their toughness. These oaks have been through a lot of changes in their lifetimes, and are now halfway across the world being transformed into a living history museum.
The Victorian homes of Galveston – photo by Laura Scudder
Map of Galveston in 1871
First, a quick history of Galveston. The island was named after Bernardo de Galvez in 1785 by Spanish explorer Jose de Evia. Galvez was originally from the province of Malaga, Spain, and rose the ranks…
Spiritual enlightenment can be reached through relaxing in a thought bubble causing a comfortable feeling with being a completely ordinary person becoming vulnerable to the world.
“At The End Of The Day” (Puerto Peñasco)– Image by kenne
Western Bluebird — Image by kenne
Image by kenne
Mountain Marigold, Madera Canyon (October 27,2014) — Image by kenne
The Victorian homes of Galveston – photo by Laura Scudder 
Map of Galveston in 1871 
Computer Painting by kenne 
