A week out from true midwinter, and not a cloud in the sky. The heavens are not the lazuli of the storm but the pale cornflower of a clear desert day. It would be hard for outsiders to believe that more snow is allegedly only 48 hours distant.
That, as it happens, is not effect of climate change; such caprice has always been our norm here. There are parts of the year when precipitation is virtually nonexistent, but in an ordinary winter (a season that had seemingly vanished, to be replaced by some drought-ridden stasis between late fall and early summer), the snow is as regular as, if appearing at wider intervals than, the rains of the summer monsoon season.
Most people doubtless don’t realize that the majority of our winter snows begin life as rain: bright green splotches on the radar map that originate somewhere between the near waves of the Pacific and the coast, stretching from something north of Los Angeles to a point someplace south of Baja, México. These systems remain rain across most of Arizona, usually until they reach Flagstaff to the north or Show Low to the east, at which point the silver waters from the sky begin to crystallize into multi-faceted diamonds. By the time their spangled kin reach us, they have been snow for the whole of their lives.
Of course, that’s only the majority of our winter storms.
The other aspect of our extreme climate here is the rapidity with which a storm can materialize seemingly out of nowhere. This is as true of winter as summer, and every year, rescue efforts must be undertaken on at least a few occasions for those who failed to respect the power of our natural world. At such times, rain and snow alike are born of a precipitate blue, and mere humans can afford to be neither hasty nor capricious in the face of such possibilities.
At dawn this morning, the cobalt of the sky found its reflection in the shadows on the ground; at dusk, such moments of recognition will occur again. The heavens pale with the heat of the day, even when the warmth doesn’t manage to attain the point of freezing; the sun may warm the air a bit, but it washes out the sky. It is at the bookends of the day, or in the face of the gathering storm, that the blues show themselves, bold and proud — and it is this latter phenomenon that informs today’s featured work. From its description in the Accessories Gallery here on the site:
Rain Barrette
In the desert, rain is the gift of life. In the midst of near-unprecedented drought, Wings honors the birth of the monsoon season with his latest barrette, formed of medium-gauge sterling silver in a gentle arc, hand-milled in a dot-and-dash pattern that evokes the vertical fall of the heavy summer rain. In the center, a single large raindrop of deep cobalt blue lapis lazuli sits in a handmade bezel elevated above the barrette’s surface by means of a tiny hand-made silver post. At either end, hand-drilled holes hold the pick, a length of sterling silver half-round wire meticulously stamped in an alternating pattern representing cascading water, anchored at one end by a small high-domed oval lapis cabochon so deeply hued as to appear violet, and held securely by a saw-toothed bezel. The barrette is 3-5/16″ long by 1-3/4″ high; the large teardrop lapis cabochon is 1-1/16″ long by 3/8″ across at the widest point; the pick is 3-7/8″ long by 3/16″ across (save at the bezel); the small oval lapis cabochon is 3/8″ long by 1/4″ across at the widest point (dimensions approximate).
Sterling silver; lapis lazuli
$850 + shipping, handling, and insurance
There will be no rain today; there will none on Monday, either. By the time the storm reaches us, the water will have converted itself solidly to snow. And while our current task list makes more snow inconvenient, it is a blessing — one that the last few years, certainly, have taught us we cannot afford to spurn or scorn or deny.
We would take the rain, too, of course, but at this altitude and climate, snow is much more useful; the accumulated snowpack provides the water that feeds the land throughout the remainder of the year. This year, we have been blessed with a return to more regular weather pattern, but we have also been surprised on occasion. We know enough to respect its force and power, and the suddenness with which it can appear. We also know that we cannot afford to match the weather for carelessness or caprice; we cannot be hasty or cavalier. Planning and preparation will always be required of us. Rain or snow, it all begins with a precipitate blue.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2019; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
