Cooking Basmati Rice Whilst Contemplating – by me


Clear; two fuzzy yellow’d circles touch the top

Of the clear—but below it’s foggy.

Cloudy, soon, as the fog rises

Out of what had been fog:

Now it’s just hay-ground.


Soon—too soon, almost, to watch the change—

It’s all cloud.

But the yellows—the fuzzy circles—

Have multiplied.  Not two, now, but many;

Not fuzzy, now, but clear.

Windows down to the hay-ground.


The windows multiply—never ceasing, never slowing.

Funny how they swapped with the surrounding:

The former, cloudy coming clear;

The latter, clear till rising fog blocks out all sight

Except through new-made windows.


But I have been distracted.

The hay-ground has risen

(Or else the clouds have fallen)

And covered up (or met) it all.

I must turn down the heat—for the water level’s low—

Or else the rice will be dry or burnt.



Apparently this is what comes of cooking rice after reading C. S. Lewis’ Till We Have Faces, which is a splendid book.  Lewis always casts me deep into thought.

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