Poppies are Popping In The Santa Catalina Mountains — Image by kenne
Spring Flowers Along The Trail — Image by kenne
— Wendell Berry
Cactus Blossom In The Utah Desert — Image by kenne
I dream of a quiet man
who explains nothing and defends
nothing, but only knows
where the rarest wildflowers
are blooming, and who goes,
and finds that he is smiling
not by his own will.
―
Southern Arizona Fence Line — Photo-Artistic by kenne
— Mary Oliver & Wendell Berry – A Found Poem
(Source: Simply Blessed)
Fiddleneck Wildflowers — Photo-Artistry by kenne
―
One of the things I love about living in the Tucson area is its biodiversity. Being in a desert surrounded by mountains (Sky Islands) with different forest biomes.
In the summer we spend time hiking in nearby mountain forests. However, this summer has been a little different because of the pandemic and forest fires.
Sabbaths 1999, VII
Again I resume the long
lesson: how small a thing
can be pleasing, how little
in this hard world it takes
to satisfy the mind
and bring it to its rest.
With the ongoing havoc
the woods this morning is
almost unnaturally still.
Through stalled air, unshadowed
light, a few leaves fall
of their own weight.
The sky
is gray. It begins in mist
almost at the ground
and rises forever. The trees
rise in silence almost
natural, but not quite,
almost eternal, but
not quite.
What more did I
think I wanted? Here is
what has always been.
Here is what will always
be. Even in me,
the Maker of all this
returns in rest, even
to the slightest of His works,
a yellow leaf slowly
falling, and is pleased.
— Wendell Berry
Since I write and share poetry nature, I was not surprised to receive a Wendell Berry poem from one of my hiking buggies, Deborah. She wanted to know if I had posted it in the past, having not it gave me good reason to do so along with the video, “The Women Who Planted Trees,” by Emily Barker.
Desert Landscape: Morning in Sabino Canyon — Image by kenne
-Wendell Berry
“Come Sit With Me Under The Clouds” — Image by kenne
And the world cannot be discovered
by a journey of miles,
no matter how long,
but only by a spiritual journey,
a journey of one inch,
very arduous and humbling and joyful,
by which we arrive at the ground at our own feet,
and learn to be at home.
— Wendell Berry, The Unforeseen Wilderness
Katie, Kenne G. and Kenne D. in Bryan, Texas (Early Eighties) — Image by Mary Ann
— Wendell Berry
Image by kenne
Becoming is Superior to Being 