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.
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
A Mouth Harp Sunset Song On Blackett’s Ridge — Image by kenne
Mouth Harp Song for the Sunset
Pine Cone on Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
Pipevine Swallowtail on Mexican Bird of Paradise — Image by kenne
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
Trailing Windmill Wildflower — Image by kenne
Couple Hiking the Rose Lake Trail in the Santa Catalina Mountains — Painting by kenne
Monsoon Clouds Over Tucson — Image by kenne
Ed Rawl Photographing Birdbill Dayflowers (08/29/2014) — Image by kenne
I remember those trails with Ed,
the Santa Catalinas rising around us,
their air thin with pine and sun.
He would stop for what others missed—
a flicker of wings,
a lizard in the shadow of stone,
or, this time,
a birdbill dayflower,
its petals a sudden blue flame
against the dust of the path.
Camera lifted,
he leaned close as if in prayer,
framing the fragile bloom
with patient hands.
I stood back,
watching him catch
what the mountain offered—
a moment small and perfect,
saved in light,
rooted in memory.
(Ed Rawl passed away on April 18, 2020, after experiencing a stroke.)
Arizona Beggarticks Wildflowers — Image by kenne
Chiaroscuro Sky Over The Catalinas — Image by kenne
Above the Catalinas,
the sky sharpens into
shadow and flame—a chiaroscuro sky,
each edge cut bold against the light.
The mountains hold their ground,
stone shoulders darkening
beneath the storm’s bright weight.
In this high contrast of heaven and earth,
the desert waits,
every ridge and ravine
alive with the promise of rain.
Clouds Over The Santa Catalina Mountains Front Range — Image by kenne
Above the Catalinas,
clouds sharpen into shadow and flame—
a chiaroscuro sky,
each edge cut bold against the light.
The mountains hold their ground,
stone shoulders darkening
beneath the storm’s bright weight.
In this high contrast of heaven and earth,
the desert waits,
every ridge and ravine
alive with the promise of rain.
Sleepy Orange Butterfly — Image by kenne
Sleepy orange rests,
wings folded in morning hush—
dreaming in orange.
It does not sleep as we do,
yet the meadow knows
its quiet rhythm—
a pause between flights,
a breath held in color,
waiting for the calling.
Autumn Plants Down By The Wash — Computer Art by kenne
Layers rise,
a quiet geology of thought,
one over another.
Filters shift the air—
suddenly the world
tilts into a dream.
Even pixels
carry the weight of silence,
carry the hand of the artist.
