Magic marker lines bleed into oil— the desert never holds still long enough to be captured clean.
Cactus spines catch first light, ocotillo arms rise like prayers half-drunk on morning air.
The mountains smolder pink and gold, a slow ignition of everything I love— wildness, solitude, the stubborn ache of beauty that doesn’t give a damn whether I’m watching or not.
Sunrise Through the Trees 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.
Sunrise On The West Coast of Mexico (01/07/07) — Image by kenne
A bay off the Mexican west coast the rising sun glistens around a half sunken military boat near a sleepy coastal village covered with a yellow-to-gray haze.
If it is true, everything is good fades away with time, it is also true that rust awaits metal resting in saltwater.
A cruise ship sat at the entrance to the bay — gone the sailors and hookers up the dusty road to Tijuana — only to be buried standing, buried facing west.
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.
Before beginning in earnest, without meanings to identify them, they emerge like figures behind a gray curtain. The dark flock on the foggy horizon defers arrival. Engaged in some play of its own making, it circles and drifts. Still, fricative, almost particulate songs filter down, silting along the gray shore. They summon the ear to something, to something.
Lake Woodlands Sunrise (May 25,2010) — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Meditation means keeping one mind. You must understand – what is life? What is death? If you keep one mind, there is no life, no death. Then if you die tomorrow, no problem; if you die in five minutes, no problem.