Corvette Raffle at Sunset — Image by kenne
Archive for the ‘Photography’ Category
Corvette Faffle Leave a comment
The sun lowers behind Tucson,
Tickets crinkle in warm hands,
The Tucson Greek Festival hums—
Bolivian Grandma with Grandchild 5 comments
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
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Rose Lake Leave a comment
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
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Greater Roadrunner 1 comment
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
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Jackson Station Leave a comment
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
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White Clouds Under A Cloud Cover 3 comments
White Clouds Under a Cloud Cover — Image by kenne
No drama in this sky,
no thunder, no blaze—
just a quiet occupation
of white under gray.
The mountain breathes slowly
under its coverlet of cloud.
And something in me
loosens,
as if certainty were never
the point at all.
— kenne
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Great Horned Owl 1 comment
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
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Mountain Geranium Leave a comment
Richardson’s Geranium — Image by kenne
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Shopping in Nogales Leave a comment
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
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Desert Clouds 3 comments
Clouds Over the Desert — Image by kenne
Clouds roll lazily over the desert sky,
late light bending low—
like Bob Dylan humming
through an iPhone.
Nothing to hold on to
but the way the day lets go.
— kenne
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Picture Me 1 comment
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
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I Walk Beneath The Saguaros Leave a comment
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
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Sandhill Cranes 2 comments
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
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Preparing To Migrate North 5 comments
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
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Blue On The Inside, Gray On The Outside Leave a comment
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
