Trail Break — Image by kenne
We sit on a log,
boots steaming in the shade,
passing the water bottle
like communion.
No one says much—
as if words might startle
the silence
that’s been following us
all morning.
— kenne
Archive for the ‘Santa Catalina Mountains’ Tag
Trail Break 3 comments
Catalina Foothills Leave a comment
Catalina Foothills — Image by kenne
Foothills at Sunset
Broken clouds—
a grammar of silence.
The mountain waits,
its edge dissolving
into violet air.
Light departs,
leaving only the memory of flame.
Between earth and sky
a pause—
the foothills speak nothing,
yet all is said.
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Two Cedar Waxwings In The Canyon 2 comments
Two Cedar Waxwings In The Canyon — Image by kenne
Waxwings in Sabino Canyon
Out of the dry wash—
stone upon stone,
echo of waters parted—
two cedar waxwings perch,
silent ministers
in a wilderness of thorns.
Early spring—
season of beginnings
already half-broken,
waiting for breath.
They do not touch.
The pause is their covenant.
And the canyon
is witness.
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Missing The Mountain Trails Leave a comment
Molino Basin Trail — Image by kenne
Missing the Trails
I miss the dust,
the way it clings to your boots
like memory.
The smell of creosote after rain,
the hawk cutting silence
into ribbons of sky.
Down here,
everything feels too paved,
too polite.
Up there,
the mountains didn’t care—
and that was freedom.
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Mountain Winter Winds Leave a comment
Cutleaf Evening Primrose — Image by kenne
Mountain Winter Wind
Cold wind,
trees stripped bare.
Leaves fallen
become a blanket—
seeds sleep
in that dark warmth.
Still,
one primrose
pushes through—
yellow note
against the gray,
a small song
of duende.
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Full Moon Over Blackett’s Ridge Leave a comment
Full Moon Rising Over Blackett’s Ridge Just As The Sun Sets — Image by kenne
Full Moon on Blackett’s Ridge
Sun’s droppin’ low over Tucson,
painting everything old whiskey gold.
You can feel the light dying,
hear the coyotes start to tune up—
like the land itself needs a song
to make peace with the dark.
And there it is—
the moon,
white as a scar on a healed-up sky,
climbing slowly over Blackett’s Ridge.
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Sonoran Toads 1 comment
Three Sonoran Toads In Sabino Creek — Image by kenne
The Eyes Have It
Three toads in the creek—
the world keeps moving past them,
I pause, and join in.
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Monsoon Blues Leave a comment
Catalina Foothills — Image by kenne
Sun sinks low,
slips under clouds,
canyons gone dark,
shadows loud.
Light keeps fighting,
gray-black on stone—
then night rolls in,
makes it its own.
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Carillo Trail In Black & White Leave a comment
Carrillo Trail In Back & White — Image by kenne
Carrillo Trail—
all bones and silence,
prickly pear flattened moons,
saguaro spines lifted
like darkened prayers.
Black and white holds it,
no color,
only the weight of shadow
and the thin edge
of light
cutting the desert open.
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Two Pods On A Pin Cushion Cactus Leave a comment
Two Fruit Pods On A Pin Cushion Cactus — Image by kenne
Two Fruit Pods
Two red pods
bursting out
the pin cushion cactus—
bright as tongues,
bright as blood,
bright against the gray.
They lean together
like gossip,
like twins whispering
a secret the desert
already knows.
All around them—
a crown of black hooks,
barbed & bent,
curved like questions,
like the hard hands
that guard sweetness.
Still those pods shine—
two small suns
no thorn can hide,
fruit pulled
from a bed of needles,
offered up anyway.
— kenne
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A Sunset Song 2 comments
A Mouth Harp Sunset Song On Blackett’s Ridge — Image by kenne
Mouth Harp Song for the Sunset
Bend me a note,
low in the canyon wind—
sun’s going down,
day’s at its end.
Fire on the ridge,
stone cut against the sky,
harp keeps singing,
light says goodbye.
Oh, the shadows fall,
long and wide—
carry that tune
to the other side.
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Wonder In Nature 8 comments
Pine Cone on Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
“Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder.”
―
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Pipevine Swallowtail 2 comments
Pipevine Swallowtail on Mexican Bird of Paradise — Image by kenne
Pipevine swallowtail,
on bird of paradise flame—
wings of midnight glow.
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Wild Nature 8 comments
Mt. Lemmon Forest Colors — Image by kenne
WILD NATURE is not a crop but a cathedral, and a single old-growth forest is a databank containing more info than any legions of supercomputers could hold. Forests belong in a Department of Climate Defense, a Department of Homeland or of Global Security, a physical and spiritual Department of the Interior. So why is the U.S. Forest Service housed within the Department of Agriculture? It’s a relic of an earlier era of convenient ignorance, when we were told that animals do not feel pain, and that forests were just crops of fiber that could be farmed like corn. How did DOGE’s whiz kids overlook this fiscal and silvicultural mismanagement?
Forests absorb about a third of the world’s annual carbon emissions globally — but older trees absorb far and away the most. Our old and mature forests are an enormous asset in this planet’s climate portfolio. And yet the Forest Service is still working to clear-cut old growth. In the West, 75% of the agency’s current proposed timber sales are at least a mile or farther from the “wildland-urban interface” — the small towns and villages in harm’s way from the dragon breath of global warming. — Source: High Country News in collaboration with the Food & Environment Reporting Network
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Trailing Windmill Wildflower 6 comments
Trailing Windmill Wildflower — Image by kenne
Trailing windmill blooms,
petals turning with the breeze—
mountain light flickers.
