Archive for the ‘Sabino Canyon Recreation Area’ Category
Sabino Canyon Sunrise — Image by kenne
“Photographs do not render reality–realistically.
It is reality which is scrutinized, and evaluated, for its fidelity to photographs.
Instead of just recording reality, photographs have become the norm
for the way things appear to us, thereby changing the very idea of reality,
and of realism.”
— Susan Sontag
Greater Roadrunner Up In A Tree — Image by kenne
The Roadrunner in the Tree
It’s not something you see every day—
a roadrunner perched in a mesquite,
looking vaguely embarrassed,
like a marathoner caught
riding the bus.
I stop and stare.
He stares back,
each of us unsure
who’s broken the rule of things.
Maybe he just wanted the view—
the wash spread out below,
the sky behaving itself for once.
Or maybe he’s tired
of the running part,
the endless sprint across dust
and open mouths of sunlight.
So here he is,
balancing on a branch,
pretending for one quiet minute
to be something else—
a hawk that knows how to rest.
Cactus Wren Stands On Stone — Image by kenne
Cactus Wren
Small body,
big sky.
The wren stands on stone,
neck stretched—
a brown speck of defiance
against all that blue and white.
Maybe it sings,
maybe it prays,
maybe it just wants to touch
what won’t come down.
Regal Horned Lizard
Regal Horned Lizard
Some call it horny toad,
a childhood name—
but the desert knows
the weight of its crown.
Spined head,
armor of stone and scale,
it waits in the wash,
a stature of stillness
while ants march toward
the open gate of its mouth.
Patience is its kingdom.
Dust its throne.
Kneel close enough,
and the gold of its eye
shows you the desert
watching back.
Regal Horned Lizard
Two Cedar Waxwings In The Canyon — Image by kenne
Waxwings in Sabino Canyon
Out of the dry wash—
stone upon stone,
echo of waters parted—
two cedar waxwings perch,
silent ministers
in a wilderness of thorns.
Early spring—
season of beginnings
already half-broken,
waiting for breath.
They do not touch.
The pause is their covenant.
And the canyon
is witness.
Photographer at Sunrise — Image by kenne
Before the Light
Before sunrise,
I led them into the canyon—
the air still holding its night chill,
the world balanced
between darkness and light.
They came for beauty,
tripods and lenses ready,
each hoping to steal
a piece of the dawn.
I told them to listen first—
to the canyon waking,
signaling where to stand
when the sun finally rose
through the notch in the mountains.
It wasn’t the light that mattered
but the waiting—
that long breath
when the desert decides
to be seen.
They clicked their shutters,
each trying to trap eternity.
I just watched,
thinking how the real photograph
is the one the desert keeps—
and never shows.
Sabino Canyon Sunrise — Image by kenne
Nurse Tree
The saguaros stand—
green towers,
ribbed and stubborn,
older than fences,
older than men.
At their side
a mesquite stands broken,
once a nurse tree,
a shield from sun and frost,
now driftwood for the wind.
That’s the desert way:
to raise the young,
then vanish—
leaving only the wind,
and the silence
of a job well done.
Dragonfly Silhouette — Image by kenne
Dragonfly, Thorn
black wing
balanced on thorn—
silence
made visible.
Saguaro Sunrise In Sabino Canyon — Image by kenne
At first light
the saguaro rises,
its many arms lifted
like a dynamic congregation.
In Sabino Canyon
the sun spills over ridges,
and each arm throws
a separate shadow—
a forest of silhouettes
born from a single body.
The desert floor
becomes a canvas of shade,
lines stretching,
splitting,
merging again,
as if the giant were painting
its own story in silence.
Audacity
Life meets you
at the line you dare to cross—
not before.
It listens for the weight
in your step,
the courage in your reach,
the fire you throw against silence.
Audacity is the language it knows.
The bolder you speak,
the closer it comes,
opening paths
that hide from the hesitant.
Female Phainopepla in Sabino Canyon — Image by kenne
In Sabino’s golden morning,
a female phainopepla rests—
soft gray against the thorny reach
of a leafless ocotillo.
Her crest lifts in the quiet wind,
eyes sharp for the shimmer of berries.
The canyon holds its breath,
sunlight weaving silver through her feathers.
Pipevine Swallowtail — Image by kenne
Wings of Midnight Flame
Where mountains lean into the blue,
and sunlight slips through morning dew,
a whisper lands on greening leaves—
a pipevine swallowtail that weaves.
Like night with edges lit,
its wings flicker in shade where wild things sit.
No hurry here, just sky and stem,
a pulse within the mountain’s hem.
Among the ferns, the sage, the stone,
it moves gracefully and alone.
Each beat of the wing is a silent thread
in tapestry, the peaks have spread.
Brief as breath, yet bold and true,
a flicker of black trimmed in blue.
Sonoran Desert Toad In Sabino Creek — Image by kenne
In the hush of dusk,
where Sabino’s waters spill
soft over worn stone,
a Sonoran desert toad rests—
half submerged, wholly still.
White-winged Dove Eating Saguaro Fruit — Image by kenne
White-Winged Dove Eating Saguaro Fruit
High on the arms of the old saguaro,
The white-winged dove sings softly, “Mañana.
Red fruit splits in the morning heat,
offering nectar, seeds, and sweets.
She dips her beak in ruby flesh,
desert silence holding fresh—
The hush of wings, rise of the sun,
the feast begins, the summer’s begun.
Cactus bloom to crimson rind,
a gift the dove was born to find.
Life in thorns, life in flight,
drawn to bloom by heat and light.
HAPPY 4TH — Cooper’s Hawk On Sabino Canyon Visitor Center Flag Pole — Image by kenne
Happy 4th
Perched above the waving stripes,
the hawk keeps watch in desert light.
Still as stone, he scans the morning’s
quiet skies with sunlit eyes.
No fireworks yet, no marching band—
just wind across the canyon sand.
The flag below him snaps and sways,
a rhythm old as freedom’s days.
This is his perch, this pole, this place,
the wild in balance, sky, and grace.
On Independence Day, he stays—
a silent oath in feathered blaze.
