Fine art in Fall colors 

Growing up in the high desert means you really only experience two seasons – hot and windy or cold and windy.
Spring and fall like to vacillate between the two, sometimes changing their temperament — and the temperature — in the course of an hour.

On this first day of fall, I’m reminded of those bygone days during the change of seasons. The wind is always fierce along the edge of the Mohave, but the gifts of the desert carry their own beauty.

Orange, yellow and pink are favorite colors. The desert likes to wear them in the early hours of the morning. Her blossoms blush in the vibrant hues, creating poppies and lupines among the sagebrush and chaparral.

The morning that inspired this painting, Sunrise Highway 138, I was driving to work from my brother’s farm. Being a school-teacher, I had created an intimate relationship with the dawn.

The sky was alive, reminiscent of the wildfires that rage through the region. Ahead, where it met the railroad tracks, the highway turned at a right angle. A train was slowly crossing the valley floor and the rising sun caught between the steel beams of the chugging cars.

For a moment, I was a boy again. The work was fresh and new. A great train stood before me and I was struck by the wonders of our time.

For just that moment — those infinitesimally short seconds — I felt a sense of awesome smallness within the universe. That feeling of being small connected me to the beam of light and I was myself and the train and the sun and the earth and all things. Then I blinked and the world was as it always is.

Sunrise Highway 138, is watercolor on 140lb cotton paper, six by nine inches. The original painting normally retails for $145 but is on sale for $75 through Fall 2016. Contact the artist directly at for purchase inquiries. Sale prices include shipping but exclude frames.


K Ryan Henisey is a fine artist who lives in West Hollywood, California. His protest works are currently on display at Betti Ono Gallery in Oakland and at the Kellogg Art Gallery at Cal Poly Pomona. An ongoing exhibition of Slumbering Sea is on display at the Newhall Aquarium in Santa Clarita.

Sunrise, 138


Highway 138 bisects the Antelope Valley just north of Los Angeles. The narrow speedway runs perpendicular to the 14 and the railway. One morning, while driving into school from my brother’s farm, there was a confluence of street and light too delightful to ignore. Though traffic is often scarce at that intersection, a train, stop sign, power lines, the rising sun and I all met for an instant.

Sunrise, 138 is watercolor on 140lb paper, 9 x 6 inches.


Haiku & Photography


Bundled coats escape

The wind and reveal ruddy

Faces with big grins.



Suitcases fancy

Traveling heights and thrill

For airports at night.

Sunset Cairn, Lake Vermilion


Baltimore’s balmy

This December morn; civic

Art shines in the square.



Twin boys off to play,

Making baby dreams throughout

These magical days.



Impressions of form,

Broad strokes, mercurial bronze;

Rodin on pedestal.



Blessing in lights; boys

Look fondly at grandfather

Through Chanukah prayer.



From Baltimore to

New York we Bolt; the East Coast

Rolls across windows.



Family and friends

Make a perfect hallelujah

For the holidays.



Editing my own

Haiku, I laugh at these jokes

Of my own making.



Somewhere in the Space

Between, I find I love you

More.  Come back to me.

Sunset Cairn, Lake Vermilion


Baby boy kisses

On my cheek and nose make for

Bright, happy faces.



Rakish harlequins

Laughing at ourselves; good friends,

Great food, grand visit.



The Chanukah lights

Brighten long winter nights, shared

Stars of tradition.



Christmas wishes and

Holiday dishes – the chill’s

Resplendent with joy.



Shredded paper and

Piles of gifts – the best spending

Holidays with you.



Today’s homecoming –

Train then bus then aeroplane,

Taxi at the end.



From the plane, homes make

Constellations – Big Dippers

Light the desert floor.



Waves of engine noise

Crash against the stoplight; I

Build my asanas.

Sunset, Lake Vermilion


The light blooms downtown

As we dress for New Years Eve;

Fog cools the wild night.



Fine dining with friends;

The New Year starts to sing from

The east to the west.



Post holiday comes;

Laundry starts the day; a smile

And I’m still at play.



Skyrim has taken

My life like an accretion

Disk pulls at the light.



Lobsters came by post;

There’s only discarded shells,

Sweetness on my tongue.



Full moon overhead,

Florence plays with the Machine;

Silvery commute.



Ghostly pink, contrails

Line the dawn; oil from the street

Winks red reflections.


These haiku first appeared on Twitter in December 2011 and January 2012.  Photographs are from Lake Vermilion, Minnesota in June 2012.  


This is written as a guest post for my friend, The Blissful Adventurer.  He’s off to Italy for a month and has an number of guests posting at his site.  Click through for more.  

Above the clouds and
Mountain tops, we dwell a time:
Thirty-thousand feet.

Alaska Sunset

Snow and we are blown
‘Cross the windswept road – ice floes
Navigate at sea.


He looks back, concerned
Across the snow, and I’m warmed
By the loving glow.


Bundled in North Face,
I reflect, in the snow, on
Basho – I’m not he.


The snow machines howl
And we’re made wolves in the white:
Boys at engine dance.

Snow Machines

North on iron tracks –
In the snow, others have left
Cold paths to-and-fro.

Alaska Car

Eagle surveys the
Track. We are an iron horse
Under his domain.

Train Alaska

Like the loon, hidden
In mist and lake, McKinley
Remains elusive.

Tree Alaska

Imposing, Northern
Jewel. Denali – rock and ice,
Millennial song.

Road Alaska

The interior:
Braided rivers, they move like
me, mercurial.


Thank you, Blissful Adventurer and readers for this guest post. My poetry, photography, and art can be regularly seen at These haiku first appeared on twitter, where I chirp micropoems daily.  My first volume, Status Haiku, is available for download on Amazon.