To pray you open your whole self
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
To one whole voice that is you.
And know there is more
That you can’t see, can’t hear;
Can’t know except in moments
Steadily growing, and in languages
That aren’t always sound but other
Circles of motion. . .

~ Joy Harjo, Excerpt from “Eagle poem”

A short walk, combined with a later short swim. Slim time for relaxing today, but that’s all right. Hosting my final Charles River Writers workshop of the season. Preparation. Cleaning up, getting order. It was a lovely gathering. Half the members on Zoom, half in person, all adding up to a wonderful whole. I served a lunch after. Indoors. Not so nice in the yard today; cool, but it warmed later. I had to spend some time on managing my How Pictures Heal TLAN workshop. And then I helped my youngest paint a room at the top of the house where she is making a short-term bedroom. Yes, it has come to that. Using a room at the top of the house! She didn’t ask for help, but I knew she’d be happy for it. And I wanted to spend the time with her. So I painted while she wall-papered and this brought back memories of my childhood because my mother always did all her own wall papering, and it was quite a production. They didn’t have self-adhesives then, as they do now. I remember how she struggled with those long strips, getting them brushed with the glue and hung straight before drying. Oh, she swore sometimes under her breath! It was fun. This daughter has always loved for me to tell stories. And this small attic-like room was a cozy place to ask me tor a story today; “Tell the cocktail shaker story,” she asked. It’s such a small story, I always think, but she has always loved it. She loves the sound of it–-me shaking my mother’s cocktail shaker full of ice, then breaking it on the floor. We had fun. And the room is almost done. And the day heated up and turned bright and cheerful. And one of my ice images photos was selected for a journal of spirituality. And the bluebirds are in the yard.