A Desert Raining Morning In The Catalina Foothills — Photo-Artistry by kenne
The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
–Emily Dickinson
Archive for the ‘Emily Dickinson’ Tag
A Desert Rainy Morning Leave a comment
Birds Near Tubac, Arizona 3 comments
Ash-throated Flycatcher Near Tubac Along The Santa Cruz River
Ash-throated Flycatcher Near Tubac Along The Santa Cruz River
Lesser Goldfinch In A Mesquite Tree
Albert’s Towhee — Images by kenne
One of the birding trips I went on during last month’s Tucson Audubon Society’s annual birding festival was to Tubac,
which is located near the Santa Cruz River. These are a few of the better shots I was able to get while there.
Since I live in the Tucson area and often hiked trails in and around Tubac, most all the birds we saw I can see from my patio.
The major difference was being able to spend time with birders from all across the country and Mexico —
an interesting group of people, if you get my drift.
— kenne
‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.
— Emily Dickinson
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Hiking In Bighorn Country Leave a comment
Hiking Bighorn Country In The Santa Catalina Mountains — Image by kenne
“Nature” is what we see—
The Hill—the Afternoon—
Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee—
Nay—Nature is Heaven—
Nature is what we hear—
The Bobolink—the Sea—
Thunder—the Cricket—
Nay—Nature is Harmony—
Nature is what we know—
Yet have no art to say—
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity.
— Emily Dickinson
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Death Of A Tulip Leave a comment
Death Of A Tulip — Photo-Artistry by kenne
“To be a Flower, is profound
Responsibility —”
— from Bloom by Emily Dickinson
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Stormy Weather 3 comments
Stormy Weather Over The South Rim of The Santa Catilina Mountains — Panorama by kenne
A Thunderstorm
The wind begun to rock the grass
With threatening tunes and low, –
He flung a menace at the earth,
A menace at the sky.
The leaves unhooked themselves from trees
And started all abroad;
The dust did scoop itself like hands
And throw away the road.
The wagons quickened on the streets,
The thunder hurried slow;
The lightning showed a yellow beak,
And then a livid claw.
The birds put up the bars to nests,
The cattle fled to barns;
There came one drop of giant rain,
And then, as if the hands
That held the dams had parted hold,
The waters wrecked the sky,
But overlooked my father’s house,
Just quartering a tree.
— Emily Dickinson
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Blue Dashers Mating 3 comments
Blue Dashers Mating (Sweetwater Wetlands) — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Come slowly Eden
Lips unused to thee —
Bashful sip thy jasmines —
As the fainting bee
— Emily Dickinson
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Queen Butterfly — Honoring Mothers 3 comments
Queen Butterfly — Image by kenne
Some such Butterfly be seen
Some such Butterfly be seen
On Brazilian Pampas —
Just at noon — no later — Sweet —
Then — the License closes —
Some such Spice — express and pass —
Subject to Your Plucking —
As the Stars — You knew last Night —
Foreigners — This Morning —
— Emily Dickinson
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“Hope” is the thing with feathers – (314) Leave a comment
Osprey — Mixed Art by kenne
“Hope” is the thing with feathers – (314)
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.
— Emily Dickinson
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The Sky Is Low 4 comments
‘The Sky is low — the Clouds are mean’ — Image by kenne
A few days ago, Frank Hudson posted an analysis of this little poem by Emily Dickinson. I continue to learn a lot from Frank’s posts, his summaries, and music.
His efforts remind me of my sophomore English teacher, who was dealt the hand of teaching an all jock class of young boys. During every class, she would read at least one poem. She was like the mother taking her children to the museum, hoping to instill some humanity. At the time, we thought she was wasting her’s and our time. Time has proven otherwise.
Although I don’t have anywhere near Frank’s analysis skills, I enjoy reading and learning from his posts.
— kenne
The Sky is low — the Clouds are mean.
A Travelling Flake of Snow
Across a Barn or through a Rut
Debates if it will go —
A Narrow Wind complains all Day
How some one treated him
Nature, like Us is sometimes caught
Without her Diadem.
— Emily Dickinson
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Hope 1 comment
Cedar Waxwing — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Hope is the thing with feathers—
that perches in the soul—
and sings the tune without the words—
and never stops—at all—
— Emily Dickinson
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Bike Rack In Black and White 1 comment
Bike Rack, Granville Island, Vancouver (08/30/09) — Image by kenne
To live is so startling
it leaves little time
for anything else.
— Emily Dickinson
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Snow Covered Peaks Leave a comment
Snow Covered Peaks In The Santa Catalina Mountains – Photo-Artistry by kenne
“AH, TENERIFFE!”
Ah, Teneriffe!
Retreating Mountain!
Purples of Ages — pause for you —
Sunset — reviews her Sapphire Regiment –
Day — drops you her Red Adieu!
Still — Clad in your Mail of ices –
Thigh of Granite — and thew — of Steel –
Heedless — alike — of pomp — or parting
Ah, Teneriffe!
I’m kneeling — still –
— Emily Dickinson
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Hiking Through An Aspen Grove On Aspen Trail 4 comments
In June of 2003 for the Aspen Fire destroyed 85,000 acres on Mt. Lemmon,
located in the Santa Catalina Mountains.
Last Friday, we hiked the Aspen Trail,
part of which goes through some of the burned areas.
The aspens were among some of the first vegetation to return,
making these trees now about 15 years old.
Our hike was almost too late in the fall
since many of the aspens have already lost their leaves.
Quaking Aspens On Aspen Trail, Mt. Lemmon — Images by kenne
Swirling leaves,
Like erratic wings of butterflies,
shimmered, shook, slapped,
Simultaneously clapping as we passed.
Grace in the grove, the ticking,
whispering clatter of the breeze
Passing back and forth between worlds,
Spirit and sound merged together.
— from “Riding Through a Grove of Aspens” by Emily Dickinson
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Mt. Lemmon Autumn 5 comments
Mt. Lemmon Autumn — Photo-Artistry by kenne
NATURE, POEM 28: AUTUMN
The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I’ll put a trinket on.
— Emily Dickenson
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Cool Morning On Mt. Lemmon Leave a comment
Bee On Sneezeweed, Cool Morning On Mt. Lemmon — Images by kenne
The Mountain
The mountain sat upon the plain
In his eternal chair,
His observation omnifold,
His inquest everywhere.
The seasons prayed around his knees,
Like children round a sire:
Grandfather of the days is he,
Of dawn the ancestor.
— Emily Dickinson
Becoming is Superior to Being 