Anas’s Hummingbird On Our Patio in the Morning Light — Image by kenne
In the early light, the hummingbird pauses in air the way a thought pauses before becoming memory. Its throat flashes pink, then disappears again, as if the bird were deciding which version of itself to show the morning. I stand with my coffee and realize the patio has become a small stage, and this bright creature knows exactly when to arrive.
Morning Sun Through The Trees — Photo-artistry by kenne
When I Am Among The Trees
When I am among the trees, especially the willows and the honey locust, equally the beech, the oaks and the pines, they give off such hints of gladness. I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself, in which I have goodness, and discernment, and never hurry through the world but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves and call out, “Stay awhile.” The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say, “and you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.”
Morning Shadows In The Sonoran Desert — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Yes, the sun has risen again. I can see the windows change and hear a dog barking. The wind buckles the slender top of the alder, the conversation of night birds hushes, and I can hear my heart regular and strong. I will live to see the day end as I lived to see the earth turn molten and white, then to metal, then to whatever shape we stamped into it as we laughed the long night hours away or sang how the eagle flies on Friday. When Friday came, the early hours perfect and cold, we cursed our only lives and passed the bottle back and forth.
The quiet morning has a few cloud friends that are gone when I look for them again in this one summer to which I have come after everything that I remember what can I call it before it has gone it does not hear me and does not know me it passes without seeing I am here it is only me going my own way there is no one else who can forget it
— W. S. Mervin
“W. S. Merwin, a formidable American poet who for more than 60 years labored under a formidable poetic yoke: the imperative of using language — an inescapably concrete presence on the printed page — to conjure absence, silence and nothingness, died on Friday at his home near Haiku-Pauwela, Hawaii. He was 91.” New York Times, March 15, 2019
Sun Through the Trees Near Sabino Creek — Image by kenne
This is autumn by the creek almost anything can happen. This is where you will find the first morning light, little fish in small stagnant pools — Do they sense time is running out?
The story goes that Walt Disney, who once had a home in Sedona, was so inspired by the beauty of Thunder Mountain that it became a theme park concept — Big Thunder Mountain. Fact or fiction, Disney did spend time in Sedona and it’s easy to believe that such a creativeperson had to have been inspired by the Red Rock Country, therefore becoming an influence in a lot of his work.
While in Sedona recently, we went on a backcountry jeep tour taking us behind Thunder Mountain and one of the “fun facts” we were told was Disney and Thunder Mountain — what myths are made from.