Archive for the ‘Black & White Photography’ Category

A Grassy Meadow Known As Thimble Flat   Leave a comment

A Grassy Meadow Known as Thimble Flat  (Thimble Peak On the Left) — Image by kenne

Thimble Flat

We gathered early one November morning,

now we were going to turn words into action 

by hiking six miles to climb Thimble Peak.

Starting at the Gordon Hirabayashi Campground, 

we hiked the Sycamore Canyon trail to the

Bear Canyon trail, then leaving the trail at a flat

grassy meadow called Thimble Flat to traverse

around a deep gulley, making our way through rocks

and brush to the base of Thimble Peak, where we paused

to determine the best way to climb this pinnacle on a

mountain ridge, overlooking Tucson known as Thimble Peak.

— kenne

Canyon Hymn   1 comment

Canyons Near Moab, Utah — Image by kenne

A Canyon Hymn 

My place of worship has sandstone walls
Arches are altars and ledges become pews.
There are rafters of gnarled cottonwood limbs
Hidden alcove gardens are my inner sanctum.
Gods send messages down the aisles
In raging flash floods and down-canyon breezes.
After-storm rainbows are my stained glass
And potholes are the tadpole’s baptismal fonts.
Scriptures are revealed in images pecked and painted
On rock surface patina and sheltered cliff faces
While holy water seeps clear or flows blood red.
My collection plate is passed around by the BLM
And I stuff it with permit fees
At the end of each guiding season.

— Vaughn Hadenfeldt

 

Where The Water Runs Dry — Revisited   Leave a comment

Santa Cruz River South of Tucson — Image by kenne

We live in a land

where the water

runs dry,

the supply 

no longer sustainable

from the sky.

There was a time

when nature

met the need

until it met

the adversary,

greed.

— kenne

No Passage   Leave a comment

No Passage (Doubtfull Pass In Doubtfull Canyon)– Image by kenne

At one time

a stagecoach route.

Now, no passage 

without a key —

private property,

keep out,

no hunting,

call this number —

really, out in the 

middle of nowhere.

— kenne

 

Twisted Wire In Doubtful Canyon   Leave a comment

Twisted Wire In Doubtful Canyon — Image by kenne

Southwest Ridge
 
When the sun rises over the mountains,
the air is still cool,
                   meaning that by the end of the day,
                                          when the sun has crossed
                         the main ridge and gives light to
                                    the other side the air is hot
                                                             ­    and dry.
                   This means that trees growing on the
                                         northeast face of any given
                         mountains flourish, while the southwest face
                                                        is generally left barren-

              there are, however, always a few brave
                                    tufts of foliage
                         who dare to challenge the
                                                       infernal heat
                                        and survive.

                                                       ­                                      so too,
                                                            ­                        with people.

— JC Lucas

Arches National Park   Leave a comment

Arches National Park — Image by kenne

Arches National Park lies north of Moab in the state of Utah. Bordered by the Colorado River in the southeast, it’s
known as the site of more than 2,000 natural sandstone arches, such as the massive, red-hued Delicate Arch in the
east. Long, thin Landscape Arch stands in Devils Garden to the north. Other geological formations include Balanced
Rock, towering over the desert landscape in the middle of the park.― Google

 

Coyote Fence Corral   Leave a comment

Coyote Fence Corral In Doubtful Canyon — Images by kenne

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
                                           If there were water
   And no rock
   If there were rock
   And also water
   And water
   A spring
   A pool among the rock
   If there were the sound of water only
   Not the cicada
   And dry grass singing
   But sound of water over a rock
   Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
   Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
   But there is no water

— from The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot 

Old Desert Men   Leave a comment

“Old Desert Men” (San Simon, Arizona, 12-01-12) — Image by kenne

Sharing their knowledge
Looking in the direction
They expect to go.

Borrowing years of living
To guide them forward.

— kenne

 

Kids Love Rocks   1 comment

Kids Love Rocks — Image by kenne

Touching each rock

with a magnet, she

learns which is magnetite.

— kenne

Missing Spring Festivals   1 comment

Missing Spring Festivals — Image by kenne

I have said the soul is not more than the body,
And I have said that the body is not more than the soul,
And nothing, not God, is greater to one that one’s self is,
And I say to any man or women,
Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes.

— Walt Whitman

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall   Leave a comment

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall — Photo-Artistry by kenne

I saw her coming.
The version of myself I wanted to see,
I saw her in the corners of my eyes,
I felt her shouting at me from the future,
So loud I heard it through another dimension,
I felt her overwhelming confidence and
Clear sense of direction shaking the ground as I pass by her image
So much so that I forget about the past;
It melts away with her words, at her resurrection
As I make her come alive time after time,
My Alter Ego.
She lies within me and sometimes, if you look closely
You can see her within the cracks of my skin,
Beneath the fragments of my broken heart when,
Against all odds, I must find strength.

— from Alter Ego by Adrianna Franklin

Osprey, My Can Of Bird   1 comment

Osprey — Image by kenne

“One day I’m going to write a book about osprey .
It has really gotten deep into my bloodstream.
So when you ask what else I do,
I feel like this is part of what I do …
is to watch these birds.”

Alan Lightman

Down In Houston Blues   Leave a comment

Houston’s Little Joe Washington (April, 2008) — Image by kenne

“Personal inconvenience, experience, and environmental impact notwithstanding, a willingness to drive all over
and beyond Harris County has its rewards for the Houston blues aficionado wanting to make the rounds.
Not only is that travel necessary to access the various widely separated business establishments featuring live
performances on a weekly basis, but for those in the know, it’s also the key to experiencing some unique
presentations of the music — both of which evoke an earlier era.”

— Roger Wood (Down in Houston: Bayou City Blues, 2003)

Finding The Way   Leave a comment

Finding the Way Through Doubtful Pass– Image by kenne

“Unfortunately I am afraid, as always, of going on. For to go on means going from here, means finding me,
losing me, vanishing and beginning again, a stranger first, then little by little the same as always, in another place,
where I shall say I have always been, of which I shall know nothing, being incapable of seeing,
moving, thinking, speaking,
but of which little by little, in spite of these handicaps, I shall begin to know something,
just enough for it to
turn out to be the same place as always, the same which seems made for me and does not want
me,
which I seem to want and do not want, take your choice, which spews me out or swallows me up, I’ll never know,
which is perhaps merely the inside of my distant skull where once I wandered, now am fixed, lost for tininess, or
straining against the walls, with my head, my hands, my feet, my back, and ever murmuring my old stories,
my old
story, as if it were the first time.”

― from The Unnamable by Samuel Beckett

You Can Call Me Old Man, but . . .   1 comment

DON’T CALL ME SWEETIE!

When I’m old and weak

Don’t call me sweetie,

No ‘elderspeak’ for me.

You may think you’re being kind

But it’s not a good moment

When dignity is left behind.

— kenne
 
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