Tanque Verde Wash Tail — Photo Essay by kenne (Click On Any Image To See In A Slideshow Format
I have been walking the trails along the Tanque Verde Wash for over ten years, taking many photos of the art and still have no idea who is the artist(s) — for me, it’s a mystery.
A Rock Art Snake In The Tanque Verde Wash — Images by kenne
The creative people living near the Tanque Verde wash keep doing their thing, this time in the wash rather than alongside the wash. To create a rock art snake with rocks this size, the creator(s) would need to carry rocks from fifty or more yards away. This rock art snake in the wash is located about a mile west of most of the art previously posted on this blog, just east of the Craycroft Road bridge where the wash runs into the Rillito River.
Last Thursday (May 5, 2021), I posted a photo of the lone wildflower (Cowpen Daisy) on a trail along the Tanque Verde Wash between Sabino Canyon Road and Craycroft Road. Our community, Tanuri Ridge, is located north of the wash, where I sometimes walk over four miles up and back along the wash. This is an art piece from the photo.
A good friend commented on the May 5th posting; “These solo gifts, especially, should be celebrated!” With this art posting, I celebrate it again.
Riding The Arizona Trail On Horseback in Sycamore Canyon — Photo-Artistry by kenne
The Canyon from Horseback
The young don’t know enough About being young They squander youth And never know ’til later.
Any lad of twelve will testify An eight-year-old can’t even qualify To be a child At eighteen our own ignorance At fifteen is finally written In language we comprehend: We know the score Reality’s the icing on the cake Of youthful fantasies; When the young grow old They know a lot About being young But almost nothing About being old.
“Not I, nor anyone else can travel that road for you. You must travel it by yourself. It is not far. It is within reach. Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know. Perhaps it is everywhere – on water and land.”
“One final paragraph of advice: do not burn yourselves out. Be as I am – a reluctant enthusiast….a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here.”
When you see me passing, It ought to make you proud. I say, It’s in the click of my heels, The bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, The need for my care. ’Cause I’m a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That’s me.
The days blur as we self-quarantine, to make less work for others. The days blur, the spot on the floor next to my bed, my feet land with a thud and I am IT director, chef, housekeeper, nurse, and tele-worker all before 9am. The days blur, my hand on backs, foreheads, my ears alert for coughing, thermometer at the hip like a gunslinger. The days blur, I touch my husband, so I don’t forget what it feels like. The days blur from rain or crying, the world a watery vision framed by window panes. The days blur until it’s midnight, 1am—I’ve waited out the cacophony of children for a silence smothered in anxiety. Privilege is a house, the hum of a deep freezer, a steady job. The days blur and my waistband expands as my mind frays, needing a hem. The days blur and the wound I am oozes, the scab yet to start. The days blur and racists fight for the right to be served—humanity is a bauble and capitalism has slashed the price. The days blur as COVID types its initials on a new high score and doctors adjust the margins. The days blur and when I finally walk out my door, the world will be less, not more.
