Japanese School Boy in Okinawa (1967) — Image by kenne
Northern Okinawa.
A schoolboy sits
beside the road.
My camera clicks
takes his image,
but not the sound
of insects,
not the warmth
of the island air,
not the generations
who walked these roads
before him.
Still—
for an instant,
his life
and mine
cross paths
through a lens,
and the mountains
witness both.
Image by kenne
Tanuri Ridge Sunset — Image by kenne
A sunset with thin,
trembling clouds—
the universe painting
without hurry.
Stand still long enough,
and you will feel chosen.
— kenne
Arches National Park Image by kenne
We persist in calling spirit invisible,
as though visibility were vulgar.
But what is more arrogant
than refusing incarnation?
Matter is not the enemy of meaning—
it is meaning slowed down enough to be examined.
— kenne
Sunset — Image by kenne
— kenne
Kenne Getting Some Arizona Sun On Our Patio
While here he spent some time running in Sabino Canyon
in preparation for a half-marathon this February.
Old Farm Junk By a Shad in Willowsprings, AZ — Painting by kenne
Sandhill Cranes at Waterwater Drew — Image by kenne
— kenne
Rock Musician — Painting by kenne
— kenne
Bougainvillea Time of The Year — Image by kenne
— kenne
Mt. Lemmon Autumn — Image by kenne
Golden Stillness
High on Mt. Lemmon,
the leaves burn gold—
not in dying,
but in remembering their light.
Below, the San Pedro Valley
breathes in silence,
a vast mirror
where the sun learns to meditate.
I feel the boundary dissolve—
between mountain and man,
between seeing and being seen.
The wind passes through me,
whispering:
nothing ends,
it only changes color.
Rainbow with a Tucson Flare — Image by kenne
Rainbow with a Tucson Flare
It arrived like a verdict—
that rainbow—
arched over Tucson’s broken breath,
a spectrum laid upon a land
too used to drought
and good intentions gone brittle.
People came out with phones,
hungry for wonder,
proof that heaven still had
a marketing department.
The rain had barely quit falling,
and already
the city’s thirst began again—
for color,
for meaning,
for something to share.
Out by the wash,
the saguaros
kept their arms raised,
not in praise,
but interrogation.
Each thorn a question
no sermon could answer.
The rainbow lingered,
a flag without allegiance,
a bruise across the sky.
Then—
light slipped,
the air forgot its promise,
and Tucson returned
to its long work
of surviving beauty.
Sonoran Sunrise Over The Rincon Mountains — Image by kenne
Sonoran Sunrise
The mountains drink fire.
Saguaro stand tall
blessing the dawn.
Ocotillo bleeds light,
fingers trembling
in the pale wind.
The sun—
golden blades—
cut the sky
wide open.
Silence spills
into flame.
And the desert,
old, dreaming,
remembers its heart—
burning,
always burning.
Pipevine Swallowtail On A Thistle — Image by kenne
— kenne
Pipevine Swallowtail on Mexican Bird of Paradise — Image by kenne
