By Joy Harjo
Praise the rain, the seagull dive
The curl of plant, the raven talk—
Praise the hurt, the house slack
The stand of trees, the dignity—
Praise the dark, the moon cradle
The sky fall, the bear sleep—
Praise the mist, the warrior name
The earth eclipse, the fired leap—
Praise the backwards, upward sky
The baby cry, the spirit food—
Praise canoe, the fish rush
The hole for frog, the upside-down—
Praise the day, the cloud cup
The mind flat, forget it all—
Praise crazy. Praise sad.
Praise the path on which we’re led.
Praise the roads on earth and water.
Praise the eater and the eaten.
Praise beginnings; praise the end.
Praise the song and praise the singer.
Praise the rain; it brings more rain.
Praise the rain; it brings more rain.
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We had drizzle on and off on Tuesday, which didn't bother me until evening when I realized we wouldn't be one of the places that get to see the aurora tonight. Most of my day was uneventful, though we did walk to the park, where at least 20 ducks were in the parking lot eating acorns and at least 40 geese were on the grass announcing that it was theirs (the eagle was high above everything looking disdainful). We came home for the World Series game, which thankfully was half the number of innings of last night's game and Toronto won. My DS9 group watched "Rivals."
Dinner was leftover pizza. We still haven't caught up on Watson, but we watched the season finales of Only Murders in the Building -- cute not earthshaking, I really wanted more Tea Leoni and Renee Zellweger and for the women to play characters a bit more than caricatures -- and Slow Horses -- the season felt less more cliched than last season but I liked it better, probably because there was so much less Gary Oldman. Now we're watching Reese Witherspoon need a lawyer the network seems to be lacking on The Morning Show. Juanita Bay on Sunday:
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