In “Remote Farm,” Bruce Ross gives us a single sharp image: on a far-off piece of land, the uncut grass has grown taller than a hay bale. A bale is what hay becomes after it is mowed, dried, and gathered—so the detail quietly measures how much time has passed since anyone worked this field. The farm feels abandoned, or at least neglected, with wild growth overtaking the signs of human labor.
The mood is still and a little sad, but not melodramatic. There is loneliness in the distance of the farm and in the thought that no one has come back to cut the hay. At the same time, the image has a calm, patient quality: nature simply keeps growing, reclaiming the place. It leaves a quiet sense of time passing and something once tended slipping away.