The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
After the wind-bruised sea furrowed itself back into folds of blue, I found in the black wracka shell called the Neptune— tawny and white, spherical, with a tailand a tower and a dark door, and all of it no largerthan…
Consider the other kingdoms. Thetrees, for example, with their mellow-soundingtitles: oak, aspen, willow.Or the snow, for which the peoples of the northhave dozens of words to describe itsdifferent arrivals. Or the creatures, with theirthick fur, their shy and wordless gaze.…
1.I don’t know who God is exactly.But I’ll tell you this.I was sitting in the river named Clarion, on a water splashed stoneand all afternoon I listened to the voices of the river talking.Whenever the water struck the stone it…
Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood.How grass can be nourishing in the mouths of the lambs.How rivers and stones are forever in allegiance with gravity while we ourselves dream of rising.How two hands touch and the…
May I never not be frisky,May I never not be risqué. May my ashes, when you have them, friend,and give them to the ocean, leap in the froth of the waves,still loving movement, still ready, beyond all else,to dance for…
1.Where do I live? If I had no address, as many peopledo not, I could nevertheless say that I lived in thesame town as the lilies of the field, and the stillwaters. Spring, and all through the neighborhood now there…
I.Will the hungry ox stand in the field and not eat of the sweet grass?Will the owl bite off its own wings?Will the lark forget to lift its body in the air or forget to sing?Will the rivers run upstream?…
I have not really, not yet, talked with otterabout his life.He has so many teeth, he has troublewith vowels.Wherefore our understandingis all body expression—he swims like the sleekest fish,he dives and exhales and lifts a trail of bubbles.Little by little…
If James Wrightcould put in his book of poemsa blank page dedicated to “the Horse DavidWho Ate One of My Poems,” I am readyto follow him along the sweet path he cutthrough the drynessand suggest that you sit now very…
I do not live happily or comfortablywith the cleverness of our times.The talk is all about computers,the news is all about bombs and blood.This morning, in the fresh field,I came upon a hidden nest.It held four warm, speckled eggs.I touched…