Affairs at the Jupiter hotel

We must cast our bread Upon the waters, as the Ancient preacher said, Trusting that it may Amply be restored to us After many a day. That old metaphor, Drawn from rice farming on the River’s flooded shore, Helps us to believe That it’s no great . . .Read the whole article at The Newyorker

The little goats like my mouth and fingers, and one stands up against the wire fence, and taps on the fence board a hoof made blacker by the dirt of the field, pushes her mouth forward to my mouth, so that I can see the smallish squared seeds of her . . .Read the whole article at The [...]