Catalina Foothills — Image by kenne
Foothills at Sunset
Archive for the ‘Santa Catalina Mountains’ Category
Catalina Foothills Leave a comment
Broken clouds—
The mountain waits,
Light departs,
Between earth and sky
Missing The Mountain Trails Leave a comment
Molino Basin Trail — Image by kenne
Missing the Trails
I miss the dust,
the way it clings to your boots
like memory.
The smell of creosote after rain,
the hawk cutting silence
into ribbons of sky.
Down here,
everything feels too paved,
too polite.
Up there,
the mountains didn’t care—
and that was freedom.
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Mountain Winter Winds Leave a comment
Cutleaf Evening Primrose — Image by kenne
Mountain Winter Wind
Cold wind,
trees stripped bare.
Leaves fallen
become a blanket—
seeds sleep
in that dark warmth.
Still,
one primrose
pushes through—
yellow note
against the gray,
a small song
of duende.
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Full Moon Over Blackett’s Ridge Leave a comment
Full Moon Rising Over Blackett’s Ridge Just As The Sun Sets — Image by kenne
Full Moon on Blackett’s Ridge
Sun’s droppin’ low over Tucson,
painting everything old whiskey gold.
You can feel the light dying,
hear the coyotes start to tune up—
like the land itself needs a song
to make peace with the dark.
And there it is—
the moon,
white as a scar on a healed-up sky,
climbing slowly over Blackett’s Ridge.
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Two Pods On A Pin Cushion Cactus Leave a comment
Two Fruit Pods On A Pin Cushion Cactus — Image by kenne
Two Fruit Pods
Two red pods
bursting out
the pin cushion cactus—
bright as tongues,
bright as blood,
bright against the gray.
They lean together
like gossip,
like twins whispering
a secret the desert
already knows.
All around them—
a crown of black hooks,
barbed & bent,
curved like questions,
like the hard hands
that guard sweetness.
Still those pods shine—
two small suns
no thorn can hide,
fruit pulled
from a bed of needles,
offered up anyway.
— kenne
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Wonder In Nature 8 comments
Pine Cone on Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
“Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder.”
―
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Wild Nature 8 comments
Mt. Lemmon Forest Colors — Image by kenne
WILD NATURE is not a crop but a cathedral, and a single old-growth forest is a databank containing more info than any legions of supercomputers could hold. Forests belong in a Department of Climate Defense, a Department of Homeland or of Global Security, a physical and spiritual Department of the Interior. So why is the U.S. Forest Service housed within the Department of Agriculture? It’s a relic of an earlier era of convenient ignorance, when we were told that animals do not feel pain, and that forests were just crops of fiber that could be farmed like corn. How did DOGE’s whiz kids overlook this fiscal and silvicultural mismanagement?
Forests absorb about a third of the world’s annual carbon emissions globally — but older trees absorb far and away the most. Our old and mature forests are an enormous asset in this planet’s climate portfolio. And yet the Forest Service is still working to clear-cut old growth. In the West, 75% of the agency’s current proposed timber sales are at least a mile or farther from the “wildland-urban interface” — the small towns and villages in harm’s way from the dragon breath of global warming. — Source: High Country News in collaboration with the Food & Environment Reporting Network
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Exploring the Rose Lake Trail: A Poetic Journey Leave a comment
Couple Hiking the Rose Lake Trail in the Santa Catalina Mountains — Painting by kenne
On the Rose Lake trail
two figures move together,
their shapes half-folded
into shadow.
The Santa Catalinas rise around them,
granite boulders draped in cloud,
pines whispering in wind.
I paint them in dark colors—
deep greens, muted browns,
the gray of stone after rain—
a palette of weight and hush,
where even their laughter
seems brushed in shadow.
Yet in the distance,
a faint light holds,
a suggestion of water,
a trail bending forward,
a quiet promise
beyond the shadows.
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Arizona Beggarticks Wildflowers 2 comments
Arizona Beggarticks Wildflowers — Image by kenne
In the Sonoran Desert
images wait at every turn—
cactus spines, bird wings,
shadows shifting on stone.
And there, unassuming,
Arizona beggarticks bloom,
small suns at ankle height,
flaring yellow against the sand.
Later, their seeds cling tight,
hitchhikers on pant leg and paw,
a quiet insistence
that the desert travels with you,
wherever you go.
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Chiaroscuro Sky Over The Catalinas Leave a comment
Chiaroscuro Sky Over The Catalinas — Image by kenne
Above the Catalinas,
the sky sharpens into
shadow and flame—a chiaroscuro sky,
each edge cut bold against the light.
The mountains hold their ground,
stone shoulders darkening
beneath the storm’s bright weight.
In this high contrast of heaven and earth,
the desert waits,
every ridge and ravine
alive with the promise of rain.
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Clouds Over The Catalinas 1 comment
Clouds Over The Santa Catalina Mountains Front Range — Image by kenne
Above the Catalinas,
clouds sharpen into shadow and flame—
a chiaroscuro sky,
each edge cut bold against the light.
The mountains hold their ground,
stone shoulders darkening
beneath the storm’s bright weight.
In this high contrast of heaven and earth,
the desert waits,
every ridge and ravine
alive with the promise of rain.
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Sleepy Orange Butterfly 2 comments
Sleepy Orange Butterfly — Image by kenne
Sleepy orange rests,
wings folded in morning hush—
dreaming in orange.
It does not sleep as we do,
yet the meadow knows
its quiet rhythm—
a pause between flights,
a breath held in color,
waiting for the calling.
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Monsoon Clouds Over The Catalinas Leave a comment
Monsoon Clouds Over The Catalinas — Image by kenne
Over the Catalinas,
monsoon clouds rise like mountains
upon the mountain—
rolling, swelling, breaking light
into silver and shadow.
In black and white,
the desert’s colors fall away,
yet the drama deepens:
every ridge sharpened,
every fold of stone
wrapped in the storm’s unfinished script.
The sky is restless charcoal,
the peaks a pale bone line—
between them
the promise of rain,
the hush before thunder speaks.
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Raven Out On A Limb 3 comments
Raven Out On A Limb
Raven’s back turned still,
perched on limb in desert light—
holds a silent watch.
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Two Ravens 3 comments
Image by kenne
Two Ravens
Twin shapes on a branch,
one croaks low, the other waits—
wind between their words.
