I've quickly realized the vision for my tiny new apartment (the one where I keep small vehicles and work on them). So, the engine's out getting tuned by the local know-how. The drive to the shop is magnificent.
Beautiful path to walk up along the side, then one can actually walk down in the water. Deeper in some parts, but wholly refreshing and wonderful. Hours later there was a weather warning reporting "penny-sized hail." In August. Apparently, these things happen on the regular around here.
Here's a poem from Stefi Weisburd's The Wind-Up Gods
Corn Prayer Dance
Strands of dancers silk
and shuffle. Conch shells
and turtle shells clink
like corrugated teeth. Men
clump together tight as husks, paint
themselves with ardent mud.
Women plant their bare
feet in the earth, wear sky
in their hair, and the rain.
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