Archive for the ‘Mt. Lemmon’ Category

Forest Floor   Leave a comment

Forest Floor — Abstract Art by kenne

Moisture tends to bring out the colors

of old dried wood helping to color the

forest floor during the mountain rains.

— kenne

An Autumn Sunrise On Mt. Lemmon   Leave a comment

An Autumn Sunrise On Mt. Lemmon — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Signs of autumn echoes
Throughout the forest
As time present becomes
Time past in a moment.
As the aspen leaves
Dance in the breeze
There is only the dance —
Neither moment from
Nor towards.

— kenne

On Mt. Lemmon’s Aspen Trail   Leave a comment

On Mt. Lemmon’s Aspen Trail — Image by kenne

To my poet friends, how many have had the following experience?

Reading a poem to and audience, years
after its having been published
or even revisited, I discovered a word

that should have been another, an edit
that was so obvious to me—the  apt word
stealthily entering my consciousness—

I stumbled over it, embarrassingly
losing my train of thought,  nervously
shifting my weight, pussyfooting—

my feet doing a little dance, behind 
the speaker’s stand, my mind
in a state of reorganizational panic

as when the face of a former lover, emerges
from memory and lightly touches something
strangely new, something ethereal . . . 

— from The Edit by David M. Parsons

 

Mt. Lemmon Fall Color   2 comments

Mt. Lemmon Fall Colors — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Drive thirty-five miles

To mixed conifer forest

Above the desert.

— kenne

Autumn Crocuses   Leave a comment

Tom Markey on the Bear Waller Trail In The Santa Catalina Mountains (October 15, 2012) — Image by kenne

Basketing leaves during earth’s 
annual leavetaking, we’ve realized
with a start—something’s missing.
The autumn crocuses that would spring

each October by the rocks.
No longer here! We never planted them,
but they implanted themselves
on us. Now, for their lack

we are poorer. Purest orchid color,
they astonished amidst the season’s
dwindling. Crocus in autumn?
How perverse, to reverse the seasons.

— from 1982: Autumn Crocuses by Robert Phillips

Falling Leaves In The Catalina Mountains   1 comment

Fallen Leaves in the Catalina Mountains — Image by kenne

It’s that time of year

Raindrops form on fallen leaves

Clouds begin to break.

— kenne

Autumn On Mt. Lemmon — A Panorama   Leave a comment

Autumn On Mt. Lemmon — A Panorama by kenne

Leaves begin to fall

Here high on Mt. Lemmon

Now wearing long sleeves.

— kenne

Apache Beggarticks Wildflower   Leave a comment

Apache Beggarticks Wildflowers On Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne

As fall comes to Mt. Lemmon

The mixed conifer forest begins

To show its autumn colors as

Mountain wildflowers will remain

Until the winter snows start to fall

And Mt. Lemmon becomes a house

Without beams and walls.

— kenne

Pipevine Swallowtail On Mt. Lemmon   Leave a comment

Pipevine Swallowtail On Mt. Lemmon Trail — Image by kenne

The trailhead next to power transformers,
A path next to a chain-linked fence.
Converging rocky paths lined by ferns,
One with vistas of the valley below
The other, with a hill of pines singing, soon
Opening to a grassy meadow of wildflowers.

— kenne

Two-tailed Swallowtail Vector   Leave a comment

Two-tailed Swallowtail On Thistle On Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne 

Magnitude in space

Whose directed line segment

Is a space vector.

— kenne

 

Aspen Fall Colors On Mt. Lemmon — Abstract Art   Leave a comment

Aspen Fall Colors On Mt. Lemmon — Abstract Art by kenne

A tangle of leaves

Shimmering in a light breeze

To its own music.

— kenne

Camphorweed Blossoms On Mt. Lemmon   Leave a comment

Camphorweed Blossoms On Mt. Lemmon (August 31, 2022) — Image by kenne

Photographer

He focuses,
greens and yellows
blooming has started
surrounded by buds

museling their way
to the next stage
unraveling on 
writhing stems.

— kenne

Invoking the Full Meaning of Life   6 comments

I’m Just A Traveler In Other People’s Reality — Image by a Fellow Higher On The Trail

Invoking the Full Meaning of Life

How best to express sharing new life

when each moment deserves its face.

What seems apropos for the moment,

when the next moment fosters a unique experience.

Is it in a number?

The number of days?

The number of thoughts?

The number of heartbeats?

The number of turns?

The number of prayers?

. . . you can count the ways,

only to still not know life’s score.

Is it in a word?

Loving?

Caring?

Sharing?

Giving?

Sheltering?

Words to communicate thoughts and feelings

when manifested in knowledge and experience.

Or is it in art?

Transforming thought,

expressing feeling,

experiencing emotions and

the desire to evoke life,

even when distance 

appears to separate a lifelong bond.

I wrote this in the 1990s. Since then, retirement and moved 1,000 miles from where we had spent 25 years, putting distance between bonds. In the twelve years since moving, we have watched the bonds drift away, causing me to question the desire to evoke life, even when distance can’t separate a lifelong bond. 

We moved to the Sonoran desert with the illusion that friends and family would be beating a path to our new home in the desert southwest — not such luck. So we try staying in touch through social media, often questioning whether the bonds were ever real — confirming that we remain tourists in other people’s reality.

 I once read a posting by blogger Old Jules, “These damned ego-warts.” 

Old Jules was a 70-year-old hermit, living with three cats somewhere in the Texas Hill Country and writing a blog I enjoyed reading from time to time. Old Jules, who passed away April 21, 2020 at 74, had concluded that he has spent over a third of his life “being insignificant in the lives of others.” 

In 1992, after 25 years of marriage and a career of 20 years, he began a new career and life in Santa Fe. 

All secure in the knowledge the extended family and friends remaining behind were part of my life in which I’d been and remained important.”

Over time he concluded it was all an illusion. 

“Kids, young adult nephews, and nieces I’d coddled and bounced on my knee pealed out of my life-like layers of an onion. Most I never heard from again.”

He began to realize that he was merely tolerated, “. . . a piece of furniture in their lives.” 

Over time he rebuilt his life with a more potent dose of skepticism concerning his worth and place in the lives of others, which resulted in his becoming a hermit. 

“I no longer assume I’m important in the lives of other human beings and get my satisfaction in knowing I’m at least relevant to the cats. 

Because cats, though sometimes dishonest, aren’t capable of the depth and duration of dishonesty humans indulge regularly.”

Old Jules had come to believe “. . . that life is entirely too important and too short to be wasted in insignificance.”

His new awareness of life is now in teaspoon measurements, “. . . measured in contracts with cats not equipped to lie. A determination in the direction of significance measured in teaspoons of reality, 

as opposed to 55-gallon drums of dishonesty and self-delusion.”

“Teaspoons, I find, don’t spill away as much life in the discovery 

when they’re found to be just another ego-wart of pride and self-importance.”

Bonds, illusion or not, have difficulty being when the moments are separated by time and distance, becoming gleams of light, for an instant, in the long night.

I understand where Old Jules was coming from and feel his disillusionment. There is, however, a binding force that comes from a homesick longing to be whole, to have completion, as Plato described in the myth of the human halves passionately striving towards one. Like all mythical totalities, humans are subject to the triple dramaturgical rhythm of primal completeness, separation catastrophe, and restoration. The most significant attraction effect occurs between the second and third acts of life’s drama, which is where I find myself today — maybe this is also where Old Jules is. I am learning to understand myself from a new divide, one half experienced, the other inexperienced — in such a way that I’m learning to understand myself in new ways. 

But then, there are the darn cats!

Kika, what do you think?

Kika (She passed away December 10, 2011.)

Mt. Lemmon Wildflower   Leave a comment

Mt. Lemmon Wildflower (Mountain Marigold) — Image by kenne

Sunlight breaks through
After a heavy downpour
Turning the trail into a stream
Breaking off above the creek
Lush green and yellow colors
Coming into being on the slopes
Of my favorite mountain trail
A shadow network of sunshine
Through the trees as juncos
Twittering calls echoes in the woods.

— kenne

Thurber Cinquefoil Wildflower   Leave a comment

Thurber Cinquefoil Wildflower — Image by kenne

 “Love is like wildflowers;

It’s often found in the most unlikely places.”

— Ralph Waldo Emerson.

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