We awakened this morning to a perfectly clear day, cold beneath a a bright sun and a still-faint breeze. Our first discovery was a bird beneath the east window: one of the male chokecherry birds, known to the outside world as the evening grosbeak, apparently stunned by a collision with the glass, attempting to recover in the cold.
There is no question here of simply “letting them be”; Stormy has the prey drive of her wildest ancestors, and she had already spotted him. So I picked him up and brought him inside to warm up and regain his equilibrium, and he settled right into the palm of my hand and promptly went to sleep. Unusually for his kind, he was distinctly un-eager to leave; I tried to release him three times before he finally agreed to sit in the feeder. A few moments later, two of his brothers joined them, then a few more of their clan, and within minutes they were all back flitting from feeder to feeder.
I was very glad to see him fly safely once more. But for the time that he spent with me, it was like holding a bit of the sun itself in my hand.
Later this morning, when I stepped outside the kitchen door just for a moment, I stood watching a raven soar past. Despite the brilliance of the day, its jet feathers suited my mood better, as bleak as the bite of the cold, bitter wind. These are the months when rest, for body and for spirit alike, remains elusive; catching more than a few moments’ sleep is as impossible as trying to catch a shadow, a distant tendril of smoke, or eve the wind itself. I was about to step backward out of the cold when a form rose out of out nowhere and flew directly over the raven, as tough the two passed each other at some invisible midair crossroads: the red-tailed hawk, flying fast and low enough to stare me squarely in the eye. She wheeled and dashed westward, fanning her fire-colored tail for me to see, then whipped around and circled back toward me, performing a few quick loops only a few yards in front of me before ascending once more to race southward.
She is, quite frankly, here well past her usual departure date, but for that I am grateful. It appears that she and her mate have built a nest for the season and intend to stay, and their presence is always welcome, but ever more than now. After fourteen months of deadly pandemic and a much longer and ultimately deadlier drought, in a time and place when we know — because colonial culture steadfastly refuses to do the barest minimum required — that there is more and worse to come, it’s at once remarkable and comforting to know that we have friends entirely outside of colonial boundaries.
The odd part is that she shows up at times when the world feels most bleak — just as a friend would do, a quick reminder that we are not alone, and there are those who see us and care for us. In our way, they are relatives, as much children of Mother Earth as we, and the fact that she comes to visit, whether for celebration or momentary caretaking, reminds us of our own responsibilities to them, as well. And it is not, of course, just the birds; it is the other animals, the plants and medicines, the earth itself — soil and mountain, air and sky, wind and light, storm and fire, all that they create and all that flows from their elemental forces.
Today’s featured works are a collection in miniature of similar spirits, of what they steward and create, what they nurture to fruition and the gifts born of it in the greening world of summer. They are adorned with the very colors of their fruits, the jeweled kernels we call Indian corn, manifest in the shades of blue sky, green waters, red fire, golden light . . . and every permutation and combination, every hue and tint between. They are maidens, spirits summoned here from stone, and they remind us why we do the work. All four are shown in the photo above, and all share the same gallery entry, but each is shown up close and individually below. From their description in the Other Artists: Sculpture gallery here on the site:
Master carver Mark Swazo-Hinds (Tesuque Pueblo) coaxes stylized Corn Maidens from plain smooth blocks of stone. Each is hand-carved from very pale, very fine pink sandstone, almost a translucent peach in color. With surfaces so smooth you can hardly keep from touching them, they feel a bit like large worry stones. In lieu of the traditional tablita headdress, each wears Mark’s trademark bundle of brilliantly-hued macaw feathers. All dimensions are approximate: The two smaller ones are in the 3″-4″ high range; the largest is about 6″; the one in the back on the far right is about 5″ high, and is narrower — almost an inverted teardrop shape. Individual views shown below.
All made with treated sandstone; macaw feather bundles
Large Figure (center in top photo) : $425 + shipping, handling, and insurance
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The first, and largest, wears all the colors of the elemental powers of the warm season: macaw feathers in blue and green, red and gold, as powerful as the elements themselves. Her regalia is similarly the most detailed, a single monsoonal lightning bolt flanked by small hoops, a perfect capturing of the Earth’s own summer dress.
The second one, in some ways my personal favorite, seems shyer:
Medium Figure (right background in top photo): $325 + shipping, handling, and insurance
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I like to think, though, that it’s not shyness but deliberation that causes her to show only so much of her face and no more. It reminds me of the moon in her many phases, allowing us to see only what she wants us to see, until it is time to show us her whole face. And the fact that her headdress is manifest in the colors of the summer storm speaks to her immanent power: the blues and greens of earth and water and sky, lit from within by bits of gray and white.
The remaining two are both significantly smaller, calling to mind the idea of little sisters. One is still slightly larger than the other (and slightly more elaborate, too):
Small Figure 1 (at left in top photo): $275 + shipping, handling, and insurance
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Like the largest one, at top, she wears all the shades of the warming world in her headdress, the same cool colors of sky and flowering earth, the same sunny shades of fire and light. Her dress, too, bears small hoops, signifiers of life in full fruit and flower.
The smallest is the simplest, no jewels on her robes, the single shade of fire on her headdress:
Small Figure 2 (at right foreground in top photo): $275 + shipping, handling, and insurance
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She is fire, and she is light, both of which are as necessary as the water for the world to grow. Her feathers remind me, too, of those of my red-tailed friend: copper fire fanned out against the cold spring sky.
And the remind me, too, of the links between us all, the small but real interdependencies that keep us all alive.
The world outside may be bleak, but it is our caretaking, our stewardship, of and for each other, that rebuilds it. And we have work to do.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2021; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
