Archive for the ‘Santa Catalina Mountains’ Tag
Raven In the Storm — Image by kenne
The raven grips the crooked limb
as if the whole sky might slip away.
Clouds bruise the distance.
Wind tugs at every loose thing—
except this raven,
who has already made a pact
with the storm.
— kenne
Front Range of the Santa Catalina Mountains — Image by kenne
Winter rain—
desert floor darkens,
mountains hold the clouds
like old agreements
finally kept.
— kenne
Sunset Over The Santa Catalina Mountains After a Rainy Day — Image by kenne
Desert-Luminous
Rain darkens the foothills,
but the sunset slips through a break in the clouds —
a copper flare brushing the Catalinas
as if the mountains were being forged anew.
— kenne
The Regal Horned Lizard, Sometimes Called a Horny Toad — Image by kenne
The Regal Horned Lizard settles into the grit,
color-matched to the stones and dust.
You can stare right at it
and never know you’re being watched.
— kenne
Wispy Clouds High Above The Santa Catalina Mountains — by kenne
Desert Imagist
Thin wispy clouds —
ice threads pulled across the high blue,
as if the sky were mending itself
with pale stitching.
Desert Noir by kenne
black sky—
sepia arms
lifted
in a dry
hallelujah.
Empress Leilia On A Foothills Wildflower — Image by kenne
The Empress Leilia lands,
her wings a hush of amber light.
One brief throne—
a wildflower trembling
under her grace.
The mountain holds its breath
to watch beauty pause.
The desert bows once,
then forgets.
— 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
Old Prickly Pear and Longleaf False Goldeneye — Image by kenne
Desert Fable
“I love rugged men,”
said the bright little flower,
stretching toward the sun.
The old prickly pear
only chuckled—
“Child, love the wind instead.
He’ll come and go,
but never cling.”
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
Aspen Trail Autumn Colors on Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
Events drift in the lattice of time,
stitched by light’s patient hand.
Shift the coordinates,
and yesterday’s truth dissolves—
what was simultaneous
now follows itself in echo.
What you see in nature
depends on where you’re standing.
Front Range Snow On the Catalinas — Image by kenne
Sun breaks over the Rincons,
throws gold sideways
onto Catalina snow.
Raven rides a thermal
rising from bare rock,
circle over circle—
energy borrowed
from sun,
stone,
air,
everything.
Nothing mystical—
just earth doing
what earth does.
And me,
lucky to stand in it.
— kenne
One of Several Low-water Crossings in Sabino Canyon — Image by kenne
Low-Water Bridges
There’s a kind of mischief in a low-water bridge.
Looks harmless when the creek’s quiet—
just a flat stretch of concrete
with dragonflies for sentries.
But you wait for the rain.
Then it turns trickster—
swells its belly,
covers the road,
and dares you to guess how deep.
I crossed one at sunrise once,
boots wet,
heart lighter
than it had any right to be.
The creek chuckled under its breath—
as if it knew a thousand fools before me
had tried to outsmart water,
most have failed to win.
— kenne
Sabino Canyon Sunrise — Image by kenne
“Photographs do not render reality–realistically.
It is reality which is scrutinized, and evaluated, for its fidelity to photographs.
Instead of just recording reality, photographs have become the norm
for the way things appear to us, thereby changing the very idea of reality,
and of realism.”
— Susan Sontag
