Diné Bizaad
The Sun’s Gift
Jóhonaa’éí yee joozba’
About the Artist
Mary-Kate Harrison
At a very young age I was diagnosed with autism. I grew up viewing the world in a very special way but it did not stop me from growing my passion in being an artist.
Navajo by Peter Thomas
Jóhonaa’éí yee joozba’.
Łah abínígo, áłtsé adoodlał, tsé łichííʼ nítiʼ bee biʼdiʼnídláád, Hayoołkááł yázhí binááʼ ąąʼádzaah dóó hazhóóʼógo haadzííʼ, “Ahéheeʼ.”
Bicheii bich’įʼ haadzííʼ, “Háísh bichʼįʼ yáníłti?”
Nítʼę́ę́ʼ ání, “Jóhonaaʼéí, ná shidiiłtʼeʼ.”
One morning, as the first light touched the red cliffs, Little Dawn opened her eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”
“Who are you talking to?” her grandfather asked with a smile.
“To the sun,” she said. “It woke me up.”
Paragraph 1
Bicheii bitsiitsʼiin náás kóyiilaah, “Jóhonaaʼéí áłtsé naʼnitiní átʼé. Tʼáá ákwííjį́ hááʼáʼááh, nihaah néídlééh, yee nihéé yiyiiłniih, iiná átʼé.”
Tłʼóógóó chʼíníʼáázh, nizhónígo sikʼáázígo níchʼih dóó neezílígo adinídíín.
“Níléí kʼos yiníʼį́? Naʼídééłkid.” Nahałtin naniseʼ tó yąąh ánáyiilʼįįh. Naniseʼ naaldlooshii deiiyą́. Naaldlooshii nihi chʼiiyąʼ. Ałhíłkáʼ anéilwoʼ, éí bee hiniiʼná.
Grandfather nodded. “The sun is our first teacher. It reminds us that each day is a gift.”
They stepped outside, feeling the cool air and the warmth of the light. “Do you see those clouds?” he asked. “They bring rain for our plants. The plants feed the animals. The animals feed us. We all live because we share.”
Paragraph 2
Haoołkááł yázhí nitsékeesgo hodíínaʼ. “Daʼ áko, ahéheeʼ dishníigo, tʼááʼałtso ʼááłdishní?”
“Aooʼ” ní bicheii. “Jóhonaaʼéí, níłchʼih, tó, nahasdzáán dóó tʼááʼ ałtso hináanii. Éí ʼááłdiiʼ ní, Áhééhasin. Doo tʼáá łaʼajį́ tʼéíyá da, tʼáá náhidiidziih bikʼeh.”
Little Dawn thought for a moment. “So when I say thank you, I’m talking to all of them?”
“Yes,” said Grandfather. “To the sun, the air, the water, the earth, and every living thing. That’s what Thanksgiving means to us. It’s not just one day—it’s every breath we take.”
Paragraph 3
Tʼáadoo íitsʼaʼí siké, níłchʼih tʼéí yiyíistsʼąąʼgo. Áko índa Hayoołkááł yazhí bicheii bilaʼ yikááʼ dadeesʼniiʼ. “Ni, ałdó naaʼahééh nisin.”
Bicheii chʼídeeldloʼ. “Shí ałdó. Tʼáá ahééh niidzin bénéilniih, iiná tʼáá yee nihidiitsʼaʼ.”
Áadi adinídíín neezílígo yee ahibiiłtsood, tʼááʼ ałtsodę́ę́ʼ nihí ałdóʼ, Ahéheeʼ, daaní nahalingo.
They sat quietly, listening to the wind. Then Little Dawn placed her hand on her grandfather’s. “I’m thankful for you too.”
He smiled. “And I for you. As long as we remember to give thanks, life will always hear us.”
And the sunlight wrapped them both in warmth, as if the world itself was saying, Thank you, too.
Paragraph 4
“Every month, I bring you a story in Diné Bizaad. Take time to read & speak Navajo — it’s how we keep it strong.”