Elk Going for A Late Afternoon Stroll In the Grand Canyon (October 4, 2021) — Imahe by kenne
The elk move at their own pace
not showing any fear of humans
and their cars driving in the park.
Looking so gentle walking across
a park road, but beware of one of
the most dangerous animals in the park.
— kenne
Albert’s Squirrel (Mt. Lemmon) — Image by kenne
Abert’s squirrels live, nest, feed, and seek refuge from enemies mostly in
Ponderosa pine forests, but also can be found in mixed coniferous forests
where they are likely to have been introduced by humans.
All Abert’s squirrels have prominent ear tufts and long, bushy tails.
During the winter, ear tassels measure about an inch in length
(thus the nickname, “tassel eared squirrel”) but become shorter in summer.
Autumn Mountain Wildflowers — Image by kenne
Autumn wildflowers in southeast Arizona begin blooming in late October as
the weather cools, and will continue blooming until the hard frosts of
late November, early December. Scattered wildflowers can be observed
here in lower elevation desert areas almost all year-round.
Claw marks made by a bear foraging for insects on Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
October
October is the treasurer of the year,
And all the months pay bounty to her store;
The fields and orchards still their tribute bear,
And fill her brimming coffers more and more.
But she, with youthful lavishness,
Spends all her wealth in gaudy dress,
And decks herself in garments bold
Of scarlet, purple, red, and gold.
She heedeth not how swift the hours fly,
But smiles and sings her happy life along;
She only sees above a shining sky;
She only hears the breezes’ voice in song.
Her garments trail the woodlands through,
And gather pearls of early dew
That sparkle, till the roguish Sun
Creeps up and steals them every one.
But what cares she that jewels should be lost,
When all of Nature’s bounteous wealth is hers?
Though princely fortunes may have been their cost,
Not one regret her calm demeanor stirs.
Wholehearted, happy, careless, free,
She lives her life out joyously,
Nor cares when Frost stalks o’er her way
And turns her auburn locks to gray.
Seed Pods — Photo-Artistry by kenne
“The lake around them changed its name.
Today it’s no more than a pond I walk around
each autumn looking for messages among
the fallen acorns and beer cans left by teenagers.
Another engine fires, the air rings with each precise explosion,
and each image vanishes into photography.”
— from “Photography” by Philip Levine
View Of Tucson Basin from Sabino Canyon Recreation Area (January 1, 20018) — Panorama by kenne
The white line at the base of the distant mountains is probably the result of temperature inversion capturing a large body of cold air having nearly uniform conditions of temperature and humidity that dropped overnight under clear night skies to the lowest level at the edge of the mountains — that’s my best guess.
— kenne
Rain Drops On Autumn Leaves — Image by kenne
there’s a dry cold air
remaining after a dawn rain
in the high desert mountains
not cold enough to snow
yet cold enough
to send a chill
throughout your body
the morning sunrise guides light
inside the dark forest
just ahead of a morning jogger
following a trail
forming a seam
across the forest floor
carpeted with leaves
of red and gold
dotted with raindrops
appearing to jump
as the returning light
glimmers through
each temporary dome
soon to disappear
beneath a winter blanket of snow
— kenne
Autumn Scene on Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
December at Yase
You said, that October,
In the tall dry grass by the orchard
When you chose to be free,
“Again someday, maybe ten years.”
After college I saw you
One time. You were strange.
And I was obsessed with a plan.
Now ten years and more have
Gone by: I’ve always known
where you were—
I might have gone to you
Hoping to win your love back.
You still are single.
I didn’t.
I thought I must make it alone. I
Have done that.
Only in dream, like this dawn,
Does the grave, awed intensity
Of our young love
Return to my mind, to my flesh.
We had what the others
All crave and seek for;
We left it behind at nineteen.
I feel ancient, as though I had
Lived many lives.
And may never now know
If I am a fool
Or have done what my
karma demands.
-- from “Four Poems for Robin," The Back Country by Gary Snyder
Mt. Lemmon Autumn Colors — Image by kenne
I watch my every step on the trail
not willing to taste the dirt from another fall
on these Santa Catalina Mountains trails.
These mountains are a heaven worth having
where little is said when you are not listening
to the passing of another autumn season.
A gust of wind stirs-up the fallen leaves
one more time before the first snowfall
covers the trails for the winter.
I thought I would hike this trail the last time
before returning to the desert trails
in search of new spiritual connections.
Now we seek to make it through the Holidays
with a family who tries as they may
to connect the disconnected one more time.
— kenne
The Slopes are Waiting — Image by kenne
It’s been a warm and dry fall on Mt. Lemmon, which could be a sign of little moisture and low temperatures the winter for Sky Valley.
— kenne
Autumn Sunset — Computer Art by kenne
— kenne
Mt. Lemmon Ski Run, Fall Colors — Image by kenne
“During World War II, a group of skiers made up of Lowell Thomas , a noted journalist and adventurer, a local forest ranger, and many Davis Monthan serviceman which included Thomas’ son, later a Governor of Alaska, and Art Devlin, a future Olympic ski jumper and Television commentator, formed the Saguaro Ski Club. The well-known cartoonist, Paul Webb, created a patch and membership certificates for the club showing a skier wrapped around a saguaro cactus.” Click here for more information.
Aspens Along the Fenceline Computer Painting by kenne
— kenne
Autumn On Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
Nature
by Henry David Thoreau
O Nature! I do not aspire
To be the highest in thy choir, –
To be a meteor in thy sky,
Or comet that may range on high;
Only a zephyr that may blow
Among the reeds by the river low;
Give me thy most privy place
Where to run my airy race.
In some withdrawn, unpublic mead
Let me sigh upon a reed,
Or in the woods, with leafy din,
Whisper the still evening in:
Some still work give me to do, –
Only – be it near to you!
For I’d rather be thy child
And pupil, in the forest wild,
Than be the king of men elsewhere,
And most sovereign slave of care;
To have one moment of thy dawn,
Than share the city’s year forlorn.
Image by kenne
Autumn
— Archibald MacLeish
Becoming is Superior to Being 