Pincushion Cactus Art — By kenne
I have walked on these trails
a hundred times
and frequently do not notice
the little cactus flowering
beside the trail.
Today I stop.
The mountains are still mountains.
Monsoon rains have added water
to the normally dry wash.
The sun is already warming
the canyon walls.
But something has changed.
Not the desert.
My attention.
And perhaps that is
one of the quiet gifts
a place can give us—
to make us look again.
Fly Ptilodexia on Mountain Wildflower — Photo-artistry by kenne
Balanced on delicate petals,
the fly explores a world of color and scent.
What seems ordinary at first glance
becomes extraordinary through the lens,
revealing nature’s intricate connections.
The Outer Banks -- Photo-artistry by kenne
Salt air, sand, and wind -
the OuterBanks keep their song,
old as the moon's pull.
Photo-aritistry by kenne
The mountains stand ancient and unmoving
while the turbine blades
spin endlessly in the West Texas breeze.
This photo-artistry composition
celebrates the contrast between
permanence and motion,
stone and sky,
past and future.
Image by kenne
A desert sentinel atop a desert giant—
cactus wren and saguaro share the morning.
The artistic background softens the edges of the world,
leaving only the essentials: bird, cactus, sky, and wonder.
Saguaro Morning In Colored Pencil — Image by kenne
The mountains hold the background in cool blues and violets,
while the sunrise burns softly at their edges.
In the foreground, the saguaros stand rooted and calm,
their forms rendered in layered greens and ochres.
The whole image feels suspended
between night and day—
between observation
and memory.
Isle of the Sun — Photo-artistry by kenne
— kenne
Joy Shopping in Nogales, Mexico — Image by kenne
— kenne
Cocklebur Art by kenne
— 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
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
Golden Columbine — Image by kenne
On black
the gold grows louder.
Each curve deliberate,
each throat of light
a doorway inward.
Look long enough
and the flower
becomes landscape.
— kenne
Then—
I thought the mountain
was something to climb.
Now—
I sit and let it
enter my breathing.
What changed?
A few decades of work
tire tracks on my clothes,
children grown.
Call it life
if you need a word.
— kenne
Bluebird in Flight Abstract by kenne
the bluebird
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there,I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
ants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep…
do you?
— Charles Bukowski
Mushroom Art — Image by kenne
— kenne
