Two Cedar Waxwings Resting in A Mesquite — Image by kenne
Two cedar waxwings sit close on the bare mesquite, their small bodies sharing the cold. I watch, and learn again how companionship survives the season.
Female Phainopepla In Sabino Canyon — Photo-artistry by kenne
Whenever we need to make a very important decision it is best to trust our instincts, because reason usually tries to remove us from our dream, saying that the time is not yet right. Reason is afraid of defeat, but intuition enjoys life and its challenges.
Kenne Getting Some Arizona Sun On Our Patio While here he spent some time running in Sabino Canyon in preparation for a half-marathon this February.
Kenne David is visiting us on my birthday, January 15, 2026. He is an ICU nurse in the Texas Medical Center in Houston. What follows is a poem I wrote after learning of the murder of Alex Pretti in Minneapolis.
I can only try to imagine your words and thoughts echo in the long corridors of Memorial Herman, where the scent of antiseptic mingles with your compassion.
I think of him — of Alex Pretti — and of all who labor, sleepless,
hands trembling not with fear, but with the weight of mercy.
Each life touched, each breath steadied, a verse in the grand poem of endurance and love, something Whitman would write: you do not falter; rise again the next day, mortal yet eternal, each healer a leaf upon the same vast tree of humanity.
In the dark shadows of early morning, the hummingbird comes without fear. It trusts the sweetness waiting for it— a reminder that hunger often arrives before the light.
You cling. Let’s start there. Not affection— need. You grab my sock as if it owes you something, as if we were once intimate and I forgot to call. I stand still, arguing silently with a plant that refuses to let go without taking a piece of me.
Walking past, I swear it whispered— not in words but in that way a crooked mouth of bark and thorn can suggest a whole conversation. I nodded, pretending I understood.
