Archive for the ‘Capturing the Moment’ Category
Bolivian Grandma with Grandchild — Image by kenne
Your bowler hat sits
like a quiet defiance—
not loud, not pleading,
simply present.
The child leans into you,
a question not yet spoken:
Will I have to fight as you did?
You tighten the shawl—
your answer
is warmth.
— kenne
Rose Lake in the Catalina Mountains — Image by kenne
No fish yet.
Just ripples
counting time.
He listens—
water against water,
nothing wasted.
Line in,
mind out,
both drifting.
— kenne
Roadrunner On Patio Wall — Image by kenne
There is something mildly suspicious
about the way he freezes mid-stride,
as if someone has pressed pause
on a very small documentary.
Then—click—
he resumes,
like a thought returning
after wandering off
to check on something
it didn’t quite trust.
I imagine his mind full of notes:
check under rock,
avoid hawk,
ignore human with camera.
A tidy philosophy,
really.
— kenne
Nude On the Deck — Sketch Art by kenne
there’s a strange relief
in having nothing left to hide behind—
no fabric excuses,
no polite disguises.
you feel the air touch everything,
like truth finally got tired of knocking
and kicked the damn door in.
they’ll call it indecent.
hell, they call everything real indecent.
— kenne
Entrance to Jackson Station (10/19/02) — Image by kenne
October in Double Bayou
puts a sort of easy wisdom in the air.
The water moves slowly,
the herons mind their own business,
and the road to Jackson Station
looks like it has carried
more stories than pickups.
A man would be a fool
to hurry through such a place.
— kenne
Great Horned Owl — Image by kenne
Feathers the color of dust and bark,
perfect camouflage—
until the eyes ignite.
He looks through me
like I’m another passing nuisance.
Out here, I am.
— kenne
Richardson’s Geranium — Image by kenne
Edge of the stream—
roots hold in thin soil.
Flower beetles
working the flower
like a quiet craft.
Nothing extra here.
— kenne
Joy Shopping in Nogales, Mexico — Image by kenne
You walk past the stalls,
shirts, saints, silver rings—
everything waiting to be chosen.
But it’s the shadows
that cling to you,
as if they know your name.
— kenne
Two Couples On the Edge — Image by kenne
Tourists whisper,
ravens circle.
Four figures at the rim,
two arm in arm
above the wide breathing earth.
Even here, at the Grand Canyon,
love tries to hold the horizon.
Click.
The photograph holds them
for a moment.
— kenne
Early Morning in Sabino Canyon — Image by kenne
Morning spills gold through the canyon.
A cactus lifts its arms
as if remembering a prayer.
I walk beneath it and hear
the quiet voice of Rumi:
The road you walk
is walking you home
— kenne
Sandhill Cranes at Whitewater Draw — Image by kenne
All winter the valley
held their voices.
Now the wind opens a door
and thousands rise—
long necks, slow wings,
syllables of change.
Somewhere north
a river bends
and already expects them.
Migration is simply
love moving
toward its next body.
— kenne
Sandhill Cranes Preparing to Migrate North — image by kenne
The marsh holds them a little longer,
a shallow mirror of sky and bone-colored light.
They stand in the water
like thoughts that haven’t resolved,
tall, uncertain,
beautiful in their hesitation.
Even migration
has its hour of doubt.
— kenne
Marine Blues On Moist Rocks Near a Mountain Stream — Image by kenne
Butterflies on moist rocks,
suddenly the world makes sense.
Color speaking to color,
wing touching wind.
Yes, I think—
this is how things work.
Then, the butterflies lift,
vanish off the rocks,
and the rocks stand alone
with their quiet question.
I get it.
Then I don’t.
— kenne
Bluebird Preening on a Limb — Image by kenne
A bluebird, occupied with itself—
feather drawn through beak,
a ritual of care.
The image slips out of focus.
What should be a failure
is kept—
because the blur records
a life unwilling to be stilled.
— kenne
Fiery Skipper Butterfly — Image by kenne
A butterfly no bigger
than a thumbprint
arrives in the yard
carrying sunlight
on its shoulders.
It rests on a flower
as the earth whispers:
Pay attention.
Even the smallest flame
was sent
to remind you
how to live.
— kenne
