It finally looks and feels like May.
Blue skies, punctuated here and there by puffs of white that have no chance of turning into anything heavier; air cool in the shade but warming to the skin the moment you step into the sun; the wind nothing more than a soft breeze; a world newly in flower and greening rapidly on all sides now.
It’s glorious.
After the gift of so much rain, it’s not unwelcome to have a few days of seasonal warmth and sun, and the forecast already anticipates the monsoonal pattern’s return by mid-week.
And after recent events, our small world here can use some hours of stillness and calm — a cooling of tempers and a warming of spirits and a few days of transformative flower.
I’m referring, of course, to the ugly fatal violence that invaded the county last night, and the tensions attending it. There’s no need to rehash it here, since it’s now breathlessly recounted, if not truly reported, on every national news outlet; anyone who wants to know can find the details easily enough. But I’m also referring to the chance (a narrow one, admittedly, but it’s here all the same) for the land to rest, to breathe, to heal a little, to grow — and for the rest of us to do the same.
Spirit knows the world’s survival, and our own, depends upon us all growing now.
In this place, ensconced in a valley that nevertheless sits at nearly eight thousand feet, we are privy to all sorts of such opportunities, to endless examples of mystery and magic and medicine, to dichotomies and contradictions that perhaps make sense nowhere else on earth but that are simply the nature of existence here. In this place, opposites do not so much attract as they do collaborate and conspire; elemental forces do not cancel each other out, but rather potentiate each other’s powers — and their own.
It means that some fragile spirits do not survive, never mind thrive; this is not an easy place, by any reckoning. But those that do thrive here do so in extraordinary ways, creating phenomena unique to this place that are part of what makes it what some of us know as home.
And it’s not always the wild elemental displays that inhabit these contradictory spaces, either. Sometimes it’s the small, modest spirits, the fragile flowers: the petals of the winter blossom that make it through to summer; the summer bloom that survives the first of the winter snows.
It’s an apt reference now, I think, given yesterday’s flowering of a small snowstorm that feel in front of Lobo Peak. Seventy degrees here, despite the coalescing of clouds and wind and a few scattered raindrops . . . and in sight of our window, snow falling on the ridgeline.
Apt, too, for today’s featured work, one that embodies the former of the two examples above. From its description in the relevant section of the Bracelets Gallery here on the site:
Winter Blossom Cuff Bracelet
In the high country, the winter blossom survives the early snows. Wings coaxes it into existence for every season with this slender cuff, its petals wrought of sterling silver ingot. The slim, spare band is utterly plain save for faint rounding at the ends, just enough to make the edges silky smooth, and the surface is given a highly textured Florentine finish. The focal accent consists of a flower formed of a flat round backing, center stamen and eight surrounding petals all formed of ingot ball beads, each made entirely by hand. Beads and backing are given the same antiqued Florentine finish, rich in texture and shimmering glow, like snow in the waning winter light. Band is 6″ long by 5/16″ across; focal bezel is 7/8″ across; small ingot beads are 3/16″ across; center ingot bead is 5/16″ across (dimensions approximate). Side view shown below.
Sterling silver
$1,025 + shipping, handling, and insurance
This is a work that is deceptively simple in appearance. It’s old-style silversmithing rendered spare and elegant: saw-work and ingot, brought together in a single flower atop an arc of pure silver light. Wings created all nine ingot ball beads by hand, melting the silver and shaping it into perfect tiny orbs, little worlds opening, flowering, growing in the light of the sun.
And while there seems little left of winter here today, yesterday’s not-so-distant snowfall reminds us that it’s never far away. We have had snowflakes fall from the sky as late as June tenth here. On the peaks? A little snow year-round, in good years.
This is one of several threshold seasons in these lands: no longer fully spring, not yet wholly summer, either . . . and remnants of fall and winter still reminding us how transient the notion of “seasons” is in this place anyway. It’s a land of, and these are days of, transformative flower. We are grateful for the uniqueness of their gifts . . . and the power of their medicine.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2023; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
