Archive for the ‘Sonoran Desert’ Category
A Sonoran Morning — Image by kenne
Bright sunlight, black tower, white sky.
The blades carve the morning into pieces.
Somewhere a tank fills,
somewhere a man believes
he has mastered this land.
But the wind owns the rhythm,
and the desert keeps the final say.
— kenne
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Soaptree Yacca — Image by kenne
Wind scrapes the flats raw.
The yucca holds its green knives
close to the bone of earth.
Bloom is rare.
That’s the point.
In this place
beauty is earned slowly.
— kenne
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Great Blue Heron — Image by kenne
Golden eye
tracking light on scales.
No hurry in him—
only weather,
only patience
older than bridges upstream.
The river keeps moving.
He does not.
— kenne
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Reaven In The Desert — Image by kenne
I have distrusted symbols
most of my life,
yet there it is—
black wings over sand
that has forgotten rain.
The bird does not promise rescue.
It promises presence.
In the desert,
that distinction matters.
— kenne
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Cactus Wren Waits for the Dust from a Desert Storm to Move On — Image by kenne
Morning haze rolls in
like a tired excuse.
The desert listens,
doesn’t argue,
lets it pass.
— kenne
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Cedar Waxwings Sharing Berries — Image by kenne
They pass a berry
beak to beak, politely,
as if time allows this.
— kenne
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Backlot props — Image by kenne
I wander the dusty backlot of Old Tucson
where a broken wagon wheel leans
against a wall the color of old adobe.
A sign reads Props, but really,
who can tell?
Everything here looks equally retired—
the wooden crates, the tin stars,
the barrel with no bottom.
I stand there wondering
if this is what happens to a life too:
all our moments stored behind a door
labeled with someone else’s handwriting.
— kenne
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Old Prickly Pear and Longleaf False Goldeneye — Image by kenne
Desert Fable
“I love rugged men,”
said the bright little flower,
stretching toward the sun.
The old prickly pear
only chuckled—
“Child, love the wind instead.
He’ll come and go,
but never cling.”
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Sunset Sky — Image by kenne
Photography patronizes.
Life moves—
blur, breath, forgetting.
A flash halts it,
fixes detail
into permanence—
which is its lie.
— kenne
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Image by kenne
Fly on a Cowpen Daisy
Down by the wash,
a cowpen daisy sways,
a fly pauses—
Ptilodexia, they call it.
It tastes the sun,
turns its head to the wind,
drinks the day
like a man lifting a whiskey
on a long, slow afternoon.
Life here is stubborn,
small as a fly,
big as the sky,
and it doesn’t ask
for anything but time
to do its work.
I watch.
Photograph.
Some days,
that’s enough.
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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
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Monsoon Sunset from Our Patio — Image by kenne
Even when the storm hides the sky, the sun finds a crack to remind us it is eternal.
— kenne
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Dragonfly Silhouette — Image by kenne
Dragonfly, Thorn
black wing
balanced on thorn—
silence
made visible.
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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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September Cactus Flower — Image by kenne
September Cactus Flower
In September light
the cactus blooms—
bright pink,
orange flames at the tips,
a sudden fire
against the cooling desert air.
Brief,
like a secret whispered
between seasons,
it glows,
then fades into silence,
leaving only memory
of color held in thorns.
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