Coyote Fence Corral In Doubtful Canyon — Images by kenne
Here is no water but only rock Rock and no water and the sandy road The road winding above among the mountains Which are mountains of rock without water If there were water we should stop and drink Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand If there were only water amongst the rock Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit There is not even silence in the mountains But dry sterile thunder without rain There is not even solitude in the mountains But red sullen faces sneer and snarl From doors of mudcracked houses If there were water And no rock If there were rock And also water And water A spring A pool among the rock If there were the sound of water only Not the cicada And dry grass singing But sound of water over a rock Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop But there is no water
Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time future, And time future contained in time past. If all time is eternally present All time is unredeemable.
Fallen Leaves On Mt. Lemmon — Photo-Artistry by kenne
In my beginning is my end. Now the light falls Across the open field, leaving the deep lane Shuttered with branches, dark in the afternoon, Where you lean against a bank while a van passes, And the deep lane insists on the direction Into the village, in the electric heat Hypnotised. In a warm haze the sultry light Is absorbed, not refracted, by grey stone. The dahlias sleep in the empty silence. Wait for the early owl.
In my beginning is my end. Now the light falls Across the open field, leaving the deep lane Shuttered with branches, dark in the afternoon, Where you lean against a bank while a van passes, And the deep lane insists on the direction Into the village, in the electric heat Hypnotised.
— from Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot
Tom’s Signature
Eliot’s Four Quartets rests on my desk not only because I love his poetic masterpiece but because my first copy was given to me by my brother, Tom, who wrote “. . . I’ve become obsessed with it . . . with time . . . with memory . . . with language, all of which are concentrated in this work. It has become such a part of me.”
Tom went on to write — “To use a few of Eliot’s words; ‘As we grow older the world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated . . . ‘ Complications, ambiguities, non sequitur I keep searching for clarity . . . lucidity, and I know each time I seek that, I’ll become more entangled. No. I’m not bored—just Scarred. I’m moving toward a sort-of silence . . . I know what you’re thinking: ‘Bull-shit!’ Since the significant things, I want to say have the wrong inflections, intonations for most arenas of conversation; I ramble on into oblivion. A series of non sequitur.” (7/27/84)
Love is itself unmoving,
Only the cause and end of movement,
Timeless, and undesiring
Except in the aspect of time
Caught in the form of limitation
Between un-being and being.
Mourning Doves In The Morning Sunlight (Sabino Canyon Recreational Area) — Image by kenne
“For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts.”
The SCVN Friday Nature Hike was Aspen Trail, Marshall Gulch Trail loop,
which would provide an opportunity to see the beautiful fall colors on Mt. Lemmon.
The Aspen Trail has a grove of aspens, which I blogged in a previous posting.
After hiking through the aspen grove, I began to get out in front of the nature hikers.
With less fall color on the remaining part of the Aspen Trail I decided to pick-up my pace.
I knew from past experience there would be plenty of fall color on the Marshall Gulch Trail.
I was aware that my buddies, Jim Thompson and Tom Markey, were hiking the trail;
hence, I might be able to catch up with them.
I first began hiking with Jim and Tom nine years ago. They were part of the Monday Morning Milers (MMM),
the first hiking group with which I started hiking.
Most of the MMM were lifetime hikers in southeast Arizona, many of whom were in their 80’s.
Jim recently celebrated his 90th birthday.
While Tom is a youngster like me, he’s 79.
Images by kenne
It seems, as one becomes older, That the past has another pattern, And ceases to be a mere sequence — Or even development: the latter a partial fallacy Encouraged by superficial notions of evolution, Which becomes, in the popular mind, A means of disowning the past. The moments of happiness — not the sense of well-being, Fruition, fulfillment, security or affection, Or even a very good dinner, but the sudden illumination — We had the experience but missed the meaning, And approach to the meaning restores the experience In a different form, beyond any meaning We can assign to happiness.
Common Mullein Blossoms On Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
It seems, as one becomes older,
That the past has another pattern,
and ceases to be a mere sequence—
Or even development: the latter a partial fallacy
Encouraged by superficial notions of evolution,
Which becomes, in the popular mind,
a means of disowning the past.
There is no end of it, the voiceless wailing,
No end to the withering of withered flowers,
To the movement of pain that is painless and motionless,
To the drift of the sea and the drifting wreckage, . . .
Old Western Morning (Sonoran Desert) — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Two-Windows (Tucson Arizona) — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Chase Morris — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Mourning Doves In The Morning Sunlight (Sabino Canyon Recreational Area) — Image by kenne
Esperero Trail In Sabino Canyon — Panorama by kenne
After hiking through the aspen grove, I began to get out in front of the nature hikers.
I was aware that my buddies, Jim Thompson and Tom Markey, were hiking the trail;
I first began hiking with Jim and Tom nine years ago. They were part of the Monday Morning Milers (MMM),
Most of the MMM were lifetime hikers in southeast Arizona, many of whom were in their 80’s.
Jim recently celebrated his 90th birthday.
While Tom is a youngster like me, he’s 79.
Images by kenne
Common Mullein Blossoms On Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
Voiceless Wailing — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Two-Tailed Swallowtail Butterfly — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Esperero Trail In Sabino Canyon — Image by kenne
