The sky is dark, clouds hang in  purplish blue/gray folds like heavy drapes--more rain today. My neighbor thinks the Indians want to be left alone, and this weather was sent to discourage digging. Saw a little bunny munching on grass in the backyard; it reminded me of one of the last "treaties" the US made with the Choctaws, the Treaty of Dancing Rabbit Creek. It was nothing more than a land grab--to the detriment of the Choctaw, of course.
Before sites are dug into, the Choctaws are notified in case they want to send a representative to be on site. Sadly, they don't often come.
But ever since Monday there's been a lot of traffic on the road out front; vehicles with out of state tags going the quarter mile away to park on the verges, and walk into the archaelogical dig site. I stopped to talk to a volunteer who had walked out to the road for a smoke. I asked on the last day, before the pits are refilled, if I could drop some flowers into one of the pits. She said it would probably be okay--but you have to park by the road and walk in which is quite a way.
I wrote a few words and a little ritual I'd like to do at that time--don't know if I'd be allowed to:
Vinegar, to remember the bitterness of your ending
Salt, for the tears of your passing, knowing you will never come this way again
You are not forgotten
The stars that guided you so long ago still wheel overhead
And the earth holds your memory
The Great Spirit has not forgotten.
susil