Sunsets shouldn’t be taken for granted. We’ve earned that wisdom. They aren’t endings, but continuations— light working through its final argument.
The desert holds its breath. We’ve both run out of reasons to explain beauty. It happens anyway— the sky goes dark, and we call it grace. Not because it lasts, but because it doesn’t.
Later, inside, the room fills with the faint scent of dust and air, the residue of light still on our faces.
You turn away to pour wine. I watch, knowing one day I’ll remember this— the silence, the dimming, the simple act of not taking it for granted.
In Nature’s poem flowers have each their word The rose of love and beauty sings alone; The violet’s soul exhales in tenderest tone; The lily’s one pure simple note heard. The cold Camellia only, stiff and white, Rose without perfume, lily without grace, When chilling winter shows his icy face, Blooms for a world that vainly seeks delight. Yet, in a theatre, or ball-room light, I gladly see Camellias shining bright Above some stately woman’s raven hair, Whose noble form fulfills the heart’s desire, Like Grecian marbles warmed by Phidian fire.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle’s compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
One of my favorite books of poetry is Riprap and the Cold Mountain Poems, by Gary Snyder.
The book includes Snyder’s translations of Han-shan’s Cold Mountain Poems. Han-shan was both a man and a mountain, a mountain madman in an old line of ragged hermits. He lived at a place called Cold Mountain, a poor poet having a crazy character. He wrote poems that were rough and fresh, and when he wrote about Cold Mountain, he means himself, his home, his state of mind.
— kenne
Gary Snyder reading “I settled at Cold Mountain long ago . . .”
Star-flowered Solomon’s Seal Wildflower on Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
BRAIN DROPPINGS GROWING INTO THOUGHTS
Seeds waiting for gentle rain Wildflowers rising out of time Looking for the god of rain, Tlaloc Hiking on a rainy afternoon Trails temporarily becoming streams Ferns moving in joyful motion Standing still in the breeze A poem with silent words Being in rhythm with nature Moving on toward oblivion Eyes looking out of the darkness Things of the spirit left behind Words strange to my lips Kika and the tree lizards
Happiness is a tiny white flower
Writing memories on the trails of time
Taking the ordinary to a new level
Looking for a poem outside the words
Living in knowledge without knowing
Scoring love by the number of sunsets shared
This panorama was taken atop airport rock, one of four main vortexes located in Sedona. It’s just a short walk up from the road leading to the airport.
On this particular morning, I was there at 5:30am MST. Although I captured several images with my Nikon cameras, this is a panorama taken with my iPhone 6. The energy I was able to take in yesterday morning is still with me.
I spent about an hour on the rock. The man standing panorama right was there when I arrived and still standing when I left. You don’t have to be at one of the four main vortexes to feel the energy found in the Sedona community. Still, many people visiting Sedona are not able to ride the vortex path — some are energy receptacles, some are not.
Photo-Artistry by kenne (Early 2000’s In The Woodlands, Texas))
Street Magic In Las Vegas — Image by kenne
Golden Columbine, My Mountain Princess — Image by kenne
Computer Painting by kenne
Desert Chicory on Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
Mariposa Lily — Image by kenne
Zion National Park –Panorama by kenne
Sedona Sunrise Panorama (June 15, 2016) — iPhone image by kenne
