There’s nothing quite like blueberry pancakes on a Sunday morning. The expression “mountain caviar” came to me in a dream. 

Two pours of batter, 
tipped by a steady hand, 
round into perfect plump circles,  
    yet still they demand 
 
a fistful of hand-picked, 
mountain caviar — 
tiny black dots scooped and sprinkled, 
from six inches afar.