The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
In the deep fall don’t you imagine the leaves think howcomfortable it will be to touch the earth instead of thenothingness of air and the endless freshets of wind? And don’t you thinkthe trees themselves, especially those with mossy, warm…
Who can tell how lovely in June is the honey locust tree, or whya tree should be so sweet and live in this world? Each white blossomon a dangle of white flowers holds one green seed– a new life. Also…
I wonder what it is that I will accomplish todayif anything can be called that marvelous word. It won’t bemy kind of work, which is only putting words on a page, the pencilhaltingly calling up the light of the world,…
Everything needs it: bone, muscles, and even,while it calls the earth its home, the soul.So the merciful, noisy machine stands in our house working away in itslung-like voice. I hear it as I kneelbefore the fire, stirring with a stick…
Here is a storyto break your heart.Are you willing?This winterthe loons came to our harborand died, one by one,of nothing we could see.A friend told meof one on the shorethat lifted its head and openedthe elegant beak and cried outin…
What is this dark hum among the roses? The bees have gone simple, sipping,that’s all. What did you expect? Sophistication? They’re small creatures and they arefilling their bodies with sweetness, how could they not moan in happiness? The littleworker bee…
Another morning and I wake with thirst for thegoodness I do not have. I walk out to the pond andall the way God has given us such beautiful lessons.Oh Lord, I was never a quick scholar but sulkedand hunched over…
I wish I were the yellow chat down in the thicketswho sings all night, throwing into the air praises and panhandles, plaints, in curly phrases, half-rhymes,free verse too, with head-dipping and wing-wringing, with soft breastrising into the air— meek and…
1.All day up and down the shore the fine points of the waves keep ontapping whatever is there: scatter of broken clams, empty jingles, oldoyster shells thick and castellated that held once the pale jewel of their bodies, such sweettongue…
The flowers I wanted to bring to you, wild and wet from the pale dunesand still smelling of the summer night, and still holding a moment or two of the night cricket’shumble prayer, would have been so handsome in your…