Bruce Ross

November river perfect house reflections one by one

Lying on my back on the floor I look up through the tangle of trees to the last slice of the luminous full moon. All that crowded my mind to the brim this especially busy day vanished. And then the strange radiating burnished orange ball, so far away and yet so close in all its strangeness.

lunar eclipse all of the stars so much brighter

An old tree hangs over our dirt driveway so that it brushes our car as we drive past. Last year, our first year in this country house, I admired its blooming. This year the gardener says it is leaning because some of its roots have worn away.

wet apple blossoms on the dark branches on the dark earth

It was that time of the year, cold and bleak, old dry leaves still on the ground, patches of snow lingering everywhere in the landscape. I had passed the old cemetery hundreds of times. This time there was a hint of sun.

early spring rust down the side of a gravestone

singing its heart out to no one in particular morning blackbird

even after closing the bedroom drapes full November moon

hazy summer morning the slow walk of the cow along the fence

sunny day an old man repainting the cemetery gate