Bruce Ross

Medera Canyon

The front range bare exposed rock with a few cracks neatly filled with light snow. In the Santa Rita Mountains at 5,500 feet crossing an empty ridge and Baldy Mountain.

gray mountain stone
dusted with first snow
still day moon

Yesterday down a desert wash with deep silence in my ears. A little wind is onomatopoeia in the mind.

my heart opens
a desert owl petroglyph
with wide eyes

Where does stillness come from? What is this consciousness? A metaphor of the still mountain rocks?

first snow
the absolute stillness
of a barrel cactus