A Dead Saguaro in the Darkness of a Full Moon — Image by kenne
The Listeners
Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grasses Of the forest’s ferny floor: And a bird flew up out of the turret, Above the Traveller’s head: And he smote upon the door again a second time; ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said. But no one descended to the Traveller; No head from the leaf-fringed sill Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes, Where he stood perplexed and still. But only a host of phantom listeners That dwelt in the lone house then Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight To that voice from the world of men: Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair, That goes down to the empty hall, Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken By the lonely Traveller’s call. And he felt in his heart their strangeness, Their stillness answering his cry, While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf, ’Neath the starred and leafy sky; For he suddenly smote on the door, even Louder, and lifted his head:— ‘Tell them I came, and no one answered, That I kept my word,’ he said. Never the least stir made the listeners, Though every word he spake Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house From the one man left awake: Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup, And the sound of iron on stone, And how the silence surged softly backward, When the plunging hoofs were gone.
Tonight, the moon is full of laziness — Like a beauty reclining on many cushions Before going to sleep, with light and distracted touch, Caressing the contours of her breasts.
Upon the satin backs of soft avalanches She abandons herself to the touch of her own hands, And faintly looks down upon pale white visions That climb into space like tropical vines.
From time to time, in her lonely delirium, She lets a quick tear shoot across the sky. And a pious poet, awake all through the night,
Takes this pale tear like a fragment of opal Into the palm of his hand, and places it within his heart, Far from the eyes of the sun.
Moon Over Zion National Park (June 9, 2014, thiswaxing gibbous moon appeared high in the east at sunset.
It was more than half-lighted, but less than full — three days from a full moon) — Image by kenne
A time of dangerous opportunity
A time to discard sacred cows
A time for spiritual renewal
A time of shared empathy
A time of caring
A time to create
A time to mute siren songs
A time to be “danger people.”
Born in January, and given my independent nature, I feel a relationship to what some Native Americans called the Wolf Moon since it appeared when hunger wolves howled outside their villages. Technically the Wolf Moon occurred a little before midnight on the 26th. I seem to have more success in photographing the moon just before sunrise, so this Wolf Moon image was taken as it was about to set over the Tucson mountains.
On the Road to Ruin — An Ode To Danger People
A time of dangerous opportunity
A time to discard sacred cows
A time for spiritual renewal
A time of shared empathy
A time of caring
A time to create
A time to mute siren songs
A time to be “danger people.”
— kenne
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