In “Apple Blossoms,” Bruce Ross presents a small change in how the speaker sees an old apple tree. At first, the tree simply hangs over the dirt driveway, brushing the car, and the speaker admires its blossoms. But in the second year, a gardener explains that the tree is leaning because its roots have worn away. That knowledge doesn’t cancel the tree’s beauty; it makes the beauty feel more fragile. The contrast between the first and second year is understated, but it shifts the poem from simple admiration to something more bittersweet. The closing haiku—wet apple blossoms, dark branches, dark earth—creates a damp, shadowed atmosphere. The blossoms are still present, but they are already falling or lying on the ground. The speaker’s mood is quiet and reflective, touched by tenderness and a gentle awareness of impermanence. The poem feels like a moment of noticing: something lovely is also slowly giving way, and both facts matter.
Apple Blossoms — Summary
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