Saguaro cactus at sunrise— you say endurance, beauty against all odds. I see a drunk saint full of needles hoarding water like secrets. The sun bleeds out behind it without apology. If there’s a lesson there, it’s that even the harshest thing knows how to bloom when it has to.
Vermilion Flycatcher in Cienega Creek Natural Preserve — Image by kenne
(Cienega creek originates in the Canelo Hills in Santa Cruz County, and flows northwest to an area just outside Tucson. It runs along the east side of State Route 83 and passes under Interstate 10.)
may my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living whatever they sing is better than to know and if men should not hear them men are old
may my mind stroll about hungry and fearless and thirsty and supple and even if it’s sunday may i be wrong for whenever men are right they are not young
and may myself do nothing usefully and love yourself so more than truly there’s never been quite such a fool who could fail pulling all the sky over him with one smile
Tucson, San Antonio, and New Orleans — Photo-Artistry by kenne
"And hear the sounds he knew of yore,
Old shufflings on the sanded floor,
Old knuckles tapping at the door?
"Yet still before him as he flies
One pallid form shall ever rise,
And, bodying forth in glassy eyes
"The vision of a vanished good,
Low peering through the tangled wood,
Shall freeze the current of his blood."
Yellow-eyed Junco On Old Mining Wheel — Image by kenne
Old friends? They mostly vanish, they are ghosts out on the road Some turned around, threw up their hands, and disappeared Like old folk songs, their stories change, fairytales of love and pain Another verse, another chorus, one more year.
— from The Light Beyond the Coyote Fence by Tom Russell
“The more a person knows of himself, the more he will hesitate to define his nature and to assert what he must necessarily feel, and the more he will be astounded at his capacity to feel in unsuspected and unpredictable ways.”