Archive for the ‘Sonoran Desert’ Tag
Acorn Radicle — Image by kenne
Still clinging to its mother branch,
the acorn refuses good manners.
It should wait. The branch says, stay.
The wind says, soon. The acorn says, now.
So it splits its dark shell
sending a pale root nosing into open air—
a small act of rebellion against gravity,
a white question mark lowered into nothing.
In harsh country
you don’t wait for perfect ground.
You start the root before the fall.
You trust the dirt you haven’t met yet.
That’s how deserts are made—
not from patience,
but from something stubborn
refusing to postpone its life.
— kenne
Great Blue Heron — Image by kenne
Golden eye
tracking light on scales.
No hurry in him—
only weather,
only patience
older than bridges upstream.
The river keeps moving.
He does not.
— kenne
Reaven In The Desert — Image by kenne
I have distrusted symbols
most of my life,
yet there it is—
black wings over sand
that has forgotten rain.
The bird does not promise rescue.
It promises presence.
In the desert,
that distinction matters.
— kenne
Cactus Wren Waits for the Dust from a Desert Storm to Move On — Image by kenne
Morning haze rolls in
like a tired excuse.
The desert listens,
doesn’t argue,
lets it pass.
— kenne
Hazy Morning Sun In Sabino Canyon — Silhouette Image by kenne
Saguaro cutouts
against a milky sun—
even the shadows
drink their coffee slow
out here.
— kenne
Cedar Waxwings Sharing Berries — Image by kenne
They pass a berry
beak to beak, politely,
as if time allows this.
— kenne
Good Morning from Sabino Canyon — Image by kenne
The day begins
not with noise
but with attention.
Sabino Canyon opens its hands,
and the light settles in—
a blessing
that asks only
to be noticed.
— kenne
Seed Pod Releasing Seeds To the Wind — Image by kenne
When it is finished,
the pod remains—
curved, hollow, precise.
Proof that purpose
does not require permanence.
— kenne
Death Happens — Image by kenne
Death happens
the way rain does—
announced by no one,
soaking the afternoon
until even the living
forget when it began.
— kenne
“Cactus Face” — Image by kenne
Walking past,
I swear it whispered—
not in words
but in that way
a crooked mouth of bark and thorn
can suggest a whole conversation.
I nodded,
pretending I understood.
— kenne
Monsoon Rain Clouds as Soon from Our Patio (August) — Image by kenne
Across the wide expanse, the sky darkens,
not with threat but with blessing.
The desert tilts its face upward,
ready to drink the slow blue thunder
of monsoon rain.
— kenne
Exploding Seedpod on the DeAnza Trail — Image by kenne
Exploding Seedpod — De Anza Trail
Dry wind—
the pod cracks,
a small thunder of life.
Seeds scatter
into dust and sunlight—
each one a prayer
the earth will remember.
— kenne
Desert Mystic by kenne
The desert teaches by absence. Beneath the old olive tree, the stones rise into a small architecture of intention. Their balance is temporary, but what isn’t? Wind moves through the leaves like an old story. Somewhere nearby, a lizard watches, unbothered by the human need to make order from dust.
Desert Noir by kenne
black sky—
sepia arms
lifted
in a dry
hallelujah.
Desert Existential Moment — Image by kenne
Thinking is the fever we mistake for health.
We name the world to quiet it,
draw borders around what frightens us.
But fear is faithful—
it returns with every sunrise,
reminding us the map is not the mountain,
and reason only another storm
in the endless desert of being.
— kenne
