
Storms Over The Catalinas Viewed from Our Patio — Image by kenne

Storms Over The Catalinas Viewed from Our Patio — Image by kenne


Zerene Cesonia Caterpillar — Photo-artistry by kenne
Morning in the desert garden:
a caterpillar clings to its stem,
eating with the steady rhythm
of breath itself.
Even the sun pauses—
as if it knows a butterfly
is practicing.
— kenne

Anas’s Hummingbird On Our Patio in the Morning Light — Image by kenne
— kenne

Black and White Sunset — Image by kenne
— kenne

Morning Clouds After Overnight Rains — Image by kenne
— kenne

Death Happens — Image by kenne
— kenne

“Cactus Face” — Image by kenne
— kenne

Exploding Seedpod on the DeAnza Trail — Image by kenne
Exploding Seedpod — De Anza Trail
Dry wind—
the pod cracks,
a small thunder of life.
Seeds scatter
into dust and sunlight—
each one a prayer
the earth will remember.
— kenne

Male Cardinal in a Mesquite Tree — Image by kenne
Cardinal flares bright flame,
mesquite shadows bow around—
sunlight says amen.

Cloudless Sulphur Butterfly on A Bird of Paradise — Image by kenne
Yellow butterfly,
its wings flicker
like thighs parting.
The flower trembles,
stamens sticky,
pollen dust falling,
sweet stink of heat.
Butterfly enters the flower,
slow as the insect’s tongue
sliding into nectar.
The air itself
quivers,
a humming body,
a wet mouth,
a raw opening.
Sunlight hard on the skin,
sweat dripping,
everything exposed.
The butterfly lifts—
nothing holy,
nothing profane,
just wings,
just hunger,
just flight.

Regal Horned Lizard
Regal Horned Lizard

Regal Horned Lizard

Golden Columbine — Image by kenne
Late September

Pelican At Sunset (Puerto Peñasco) by kenne
Pelican
big bird
ugly as sin
flaps over the shoreline
like it owns the joint.
sun’s going down—
one of those cheap sunsets
people clap for,
like the world did a trick.
but the pelican doesn’t care,
doesn’t slow down,
doesn’t pause for applause.
it just rides the air,
beak heavy,
wings awkward,
perfect anyway—
because it doesn’t try
to be beautiful.

Telluride Sunset — Image by kenne
Telluride Sunset
The sun drags its golden
behind the mountains,
spilling over rooftops
and the long shadows of people
crossing Main Street.
Boots scuff the pavement,
laughter floats with
the smell of wood smoke.
No hurry, though the light burns low—
each step a pause,
each glance a small rebellion
against time’s insistence.
Somewhere,
a river runs behind the town,
catching the last fire of day.
Somewhere else,
the mountains hold the wind
like an old joke.
And we cross the street,
thinking we are moving forward,
but really just floating
in the golden end of day,
alive to everything
we cannot carry with us.