Change is on the wind.
Dawn broke amid coral-colored clouds, and now there is more gray than blue visible overhead. The wiind is rising, and you can feel that edge that heralds a gathering storm. Initially, the forecast predicted rain for tomorrow, turning to snow showers on Monday, but now, the first of the weather system is slated to arrive this evening, and it’s unlikely to remain mere rain when the mercury plunges tonight.
The firewood is already in; the hay is covered. Wings is hard at work on the land, taking care of last-minute tasks that require dry air and ground. And there is already a rain of golden leaves outside the window, as the aspens shed the past year’s robes in preparation for their winter’s rest.
In other words, it’s what I consider a perfect fall day, plenty of dark and heavy clouds above a land still scribed by shadows and light, all the muted shades of early winter adance with the last of autumn’s fire.
There is a haunting quality to this day, and that, too, is fitting for this time of year. It’s not a matter of colonial holidays; our peoples have always known that there are times when the spirits walk, whether in pursuit of mischief or just a chance to see much-loved faces and places for a moment once again — and the period from what the outside world knows as October through the calendar year’s end is perhaps the best known for such events. The dogs certainly spend more time now warning against, and occasionally pursuing, that which remains stubbornly invisible to us than at any other point in the year.
But our own concerns now are not centered around such visitations or lack thereof; rather, we are intently focused on earth and sky and what develops (or does not) between them.
A couple of days ago, an area meteorologist (a colonial one, if that’s not already clear from the context) weighed in with a warning that we should expect a La Niña winter yet again — in other words, bone-dry, and plunged back into the depths of this ongoing twelve-hundred-year drought. Except . . . except this “expert” mischaracterized the recent rains as “too much of a good thing,” and misstated the duration of the ongoing drought, which goes back at least an extra four or five years than he described. It’s common practice, of course; they deliberately exclude years with better precipitation levels even though they’re nowhere near enough to put a ent in the drought, never mind the ensuing climate collapse. But it allows them to maintain the murderous lie that climate change is not really happening, and even if it is, it’s not really that bad.
Just like the same officials and “experts” do with the pandemic, insisting the it’s better if not already over entirely, because look! Case numbers are dopping! While failing to note that they’re neither testing nor recording cases, so in truth they have absolutely no idea just how terrible it truly is.
Such are the wages, the driving forces and reason for being, the half-life and the end game of colonialism.
If you’ve ever wondered why pandemic isolation is nothing particularly new (nor particularly burdensome) for us here, these snapshots of the outer world’s behavior offer a clue.
Our greatest task now, aside from staying alive ourselves in a world tht would happily see us otherwise, is to keep the land alive. It’s endless labor in an environment such as this, when climate collapse is already here, never mind all the denials from those who would rather accuse those who see what’s happening before our eyes of “doomsaying.” It’s not. We know better than most how much remediation can accomplis, but it will accomplish nothing if it’s not put into action to address what is, rather than what the broader society would prefer to pretend circusmtances to be. And so we insist on being blunt about it; insist, too, on the work required of us. There are generations yet unborn who will need a habitable world, and this is our obligation to them, and to the world itself.
And so we celebrate the prospect of rain — even more, the chance that we might see snow. They are, after all, what keeps this land alive: the water, and between the rain and the snow, sun medicine.
Today’s featured work, a pair of earrings, embodies this gift. From their description in the Earrings Gallery here on the site:
After the Rain Earrings
The high desert’s monsoon season is one of starkly beautiful landscapes, and after the rain, the sunset sets the sky aflame against a still-gray earth. Wings summons the spirits of storm and sunset simultaneously in these dangling drop earrings, each a long, elegant cascade of landscape jasper set into bezels backed with a feathery pattern as ethereal as the post-storm light. The cabochons are a matched pair, domed at the top and beveled at the corners, warm earthy bands of sand and burgundy and ivory at the top above a land still gray with storm and wind below. Each is set into a hand-filed, low-profile bezel trimmed with twisted silver and hung from sterling silver wires via hand-made jump rings; the back of each setting is hand-milled in a graceful feathered pattern, raised in a silky textured relief. Earrings hang 2.25″ in total length (excluding wires) by 5/8″ across; cabochons are 2″ long by .5″ across (dimensions approximate). [Note: These are large stones, requiring a significant amount of silver; the earrings are substantial, and should be worn by someone accustomed to wearing earrings with a bit of weight.] Reverse shown below.
Sterling silver; landscape jasper
$725 + shipping, handling, and insurance
I’ve chosen to repeat the top photo again here, so that the image remains in proximity to the description. The name was inspired by those moments after the rain in summer, when the clouds have neither fully parted nor departed, instead conspiring with the lowering light to set the sky aflame. But the same might be said of our current circumstances, before the snow, as clouds and light together begin their hauntingly beautiful dance.
Besides, I wanted to add the small, slender image below, the one that shows the reverse of these big, bold oblong drops:
The outer backing of the bezels is hand-milled in a flowing, feathery pattern. In that, it looks much like the clouds in yesterday’s skies: slender white strands known as mares’ tails, ends fanned upward across the blue . . . and backed by shirred piles of pure iridescence, both cloud types together a harbinger of changing weather. The pattern reminds me, too, of the shadows the sun casts across the fading landscape, and of the branches now actively shedding their leaves in the rising wind.
The air is cold, and the wind will get much worse before the day is out. But it will bring with it the healing gifts this land so desperately needs, and between the rain and the snow, sun medicine will continue to warm the earth.
We are grateful for all of it.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2022; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
