Archive for the ‘Mt. Lemmon’ Tag
Mexican Jay On Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
A Mexican Jay
keeps watch from the pine.
Below, we climb
through the blue morning.
One bright eye
above the trail.
The mountain says nothing;
the jay says plenty.
Bearded Penstemon — Image by kenne
Bearded penstemons catch the dawn,
Holding drops of silver light.
Hummingbirds dart branch to branch,
Greeting flowers through the bright.
The mountain air is cool and clear,
The canyon streams begin to sing.
Every bloom along the slope
Whispers softly, “It is spring.”
Sneezeweed in the Wind On Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
A gust arrives
and the sneezeweed bows
all at once.
Someone might call this
wildflower behavior.
But from where I’m standing
it looks suspiciously like art—
yellow disks
sketching circles in the air
while the wind
keeps erasing the drawing.
— kenne
Mushroom in Pine Needles — Image by kenne
Under ponderosa shade
one pale cap
holding up
a whole sky of trees.
— kenne
Birdbill Dayflowers On Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
There is always this temptation
to keep walking,
to believe forward motion
is the same as purpose.
But the Birdbill dayflower
interrupts me—
a blue so exact it feels deliberate.
I kneel.
The mountain does not applaud.
It allows me this moment
of belonging,
as if I have earned nothing
and been given everything.
— kenne
Bright Colors of the Season — Image by kenne
I walk through the bright colors of the season,
fire-red leaves falling like words
I once meant to say.
The mountain exhales—
a slow, last sigh.
Somewhere below,
a stream folds light into its cold hands,
and I remember what forgiveness feels like.
— kenne
Snow on Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
A traveler who pauses to admire the beauty of woods filling with snow,
but is reminded by his horse and his own sense of duty that he must
continue his journey because he has “promises to keep”
and “miles to go before I sleep.
— from Stopping by the Woods On a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost
Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
Go alone, if you would see clearly.
Crowds borrow courage from noise.
The solitary man,
standing before a vast horizon,
measures himself without deception.
There, humility is not taught—
it is required,
as gravity requires weight.
— kenne
An Orange-Capped Mushroom on Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
Under a quilt of needles,
it presses upward—
a small insistence
against the coming white silence.
— kenne
Aspen Trail on Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
A trail of yellow leaves
threads the aspens—
a quiet path of sunlight
laid gently on the forest floor.
— kenne
Image by kenne
Fenceline, Mt. Lemmon
Yellow leans into the wind,
a soft surrender of summer.
Along the fence,
the season loosens its grip—
beauty, brief
and already leaving.
A Fall Scene On Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
Leaves, wet and breathing,
circle the small green mind of moss.
From the cliff’s lip,
a drop gathers,
falls—
not a fall at all,
but gravity’s remembering.
— kenne
Aspen Trail On Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
Yellow is the hush before the wind,
the trembling song of what must change.
On the Aspen Trail,
each leaf a coin of sunlight spent wisely—
then let go.
— kenne
Photo-artistry by kenne
Mt. Lemmon’s fall colors become artificial near the fenceline
By the time you reach the fenceline,
where the last maples lean against the fence
and the ground tilts toward Tucson,
the color has gone plastic—
a red too red, a yellow borrowed
from a gas station sign.
The trees remember what’s expected of them,
how the tourists need their postcard.
A kid poses for her mother’s phone,
and the mountain obliges,
spilling out one last bit of October
for the algorithm.
You stand by the fence—
the smell of sap and exhaust mingling
and think of the men who built
the road you drove up on.
Their sweat staining the stone still,
their laughter lost somewhere
between true color and paint.
The wind tries to speak again,
but no one listens.
The leaves keep shining
in their counterfeit glory,
each one a small rebellion
already fading.
— kenne
Pine Cone on Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
“Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder.”
― E.B. White
![[ ... the watchtower ]](https://i0.wp.com/live.staticflickr.com/65535/55625242586_30d9ea7de3_s.jpg?w=1000&ssl=1 "[ ... the watchtower ]")
