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
Archive for the ‘Capture the Moment’ Tag
Tunuri Ridge Sunset Leave a comment
Spirit Into Matter 2 comments
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
Share this:
Sunset: The First Of Many To Come 4 comments
Sunset — Image by kenne
The sun sets
not because it is tired,
but to remind us
that endings
are another way
the soul learns trust.
— kenne
Share this:
Nurses Will Not Backdown 3 comments
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.
Kenne David is visiting us on my birthday, January 15, 2026. He is an ICU nurse in the Texas Medical Center in Houston. What follows is a poem I wrote after learning of the murder of Alex Pretti in Minneapolis.
I can only try to imagine your words and thoughts echo in the long corridors of Memorial Herman,
where the scent of antiseptic mingles with your compassion.
I think of him — of Alex Pretti — and of all who labor, sleepless,
hands trembling not with fear, but with the weight of mercy.
Each life touched, each breath steadied,
a verse in the grand poem of endurance and love,
something Whitman would write: you do not falter;
rise again the next day, mortal yet eternal,
each healer a leaf upon the same vast tree of humanity.
Share this:
Door That Sings of Dust Leave a comment
Old Farm Junk By a Shad in Willowsprings, AZ — Painting by kenne
The shed door sighs open,
its hinges trembling
with a worn vibrato—
a reed instrument fashioned
from stubborn wood and time.
That wavering note
brushes my chest,
and something inside
loosens, answers.
I step into the dim interior
where shadows keep company
with the tools no longer needed,
and I feel the strange comfort
of being admitted again
to the places I’ve outgrown.
Share this:
Sandhill Cranes 3 comments
Sandhill Cranes at Waterwater Drew — Image by kenne
The cranes croak and rattle in the dawn
like rusty hinges on the world’s back door.
I like their honesty—
no pretense, no apology.
Just hunger, cold feet, long flight,
and the ancient duty of returning.
The desert approves.
So do I.
— kenne
Share this:
Rock Musician 1 comment
Rock Musician — Painting by kenne
His face is half-shadowed,
half-light,
like he’s straddling the truth
of every song he ever wrote.
You can feel the old road in him—
the miles, the mistakes,
the sweet redemption of a single clean riff
cutting through the dark.
— kenne
Share this:
Bougainvillea Time Of The Year 2 comments
Bougainvillea Time of The Year — Image by kenne
Every morning now
the bougainvillea glows—
a lantern in daylight.
How does it hold so much pink,
so much flame?
I touch one fallen bract on the ground
and feel the whole season
lean closer, whispering:
remember this brightness.
— kenne
Share this:
Golden Stillness 5 comments
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.
Share this:
Rainbow With A Tucson Flare 3 comments
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.
Share this:
Sonoran Sunrise 7 comments
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.
Share this:
In A Sea Of Green 3 comments
Pipevine Swallowtail On A Thistle — Image by kenne
The swallowtail lands—
a flicker of blue fire
on the rough crown of thistle.
The meadow holds its breath,
each blade of grass
a prayer for stillness.
Beauty, brief and unashamed,
goes on living
without our witness.
— kenne
Share this:
Pipevine Swallowtail 2 comments
Pipevine Swallowtail on Mexican Bird of Paradise — Image by kenne
Pipevine swallowtail,
on bird of paradise flame—
wings of midnight glow.
Share this:
Tanuri Ridge Sunset 4 comments
Tanuri Ridge Sunset Computer Painting — Image by kenne
Evening comes slowly,
a patient hand across the desert sky.
Tanuri Ridge lifts its quiet spine
against the last of the light,
trees and shadows holding their place
as the horizon begins to burn.
The sun spills its final colors—
deep amber,
rose drifting into violet,
a breath of gold dissolving into silence.
Every hue lingers longer than the last,
as though the sky is unwilling to let go.
On the screen,
a digital brush gathers the moment,
stroke after stroke shaping what fades.
Pixels remember
what the eye can only witness once.
Here, in painted light,
the sunset does not vanish—
it stays suspended,
a meditation on time,
a stillness made visible,
a horizon that never fully darkens.
Share this:
A Dreamer With A Long Memory 2 comments
Desert Sunset — Image by kenne
