Today I was up with the dawn, the eastern sky washed silver by the radiant glow of a sun not yet risen above the peaks, the aspen lines on their eastern-facing crags and slopes ablaze in shades of gold and amber. It is cold this morning, but not quite so cold as these two days past, and the sun is already making known its intent to create a day that is clear and bright and seasonably warm.
It’s a perfect day for a private celebration of the Feast of San Geronimo, one to hold the people in the last of summer’s comfortable and comforting embrace.
A few remnant markers of summer’s end remain here upon the land, too: a few surviving ears of Indian corn, some tiny squash and a few hardy peas and green tomatoes yet to be harvested from the garden; the last of the wild sunflowers seemingly at extremes now, either hovering just above the land or standing unusually tall; purple asters in such full abundance as we have never seen before, drought notwithstanding; and even a few pollinators still stubbornly at their work.
At the moment, the majority of the pollinators have largely given way to the migrants, of course. We have had new birds and returned birds, birds out of season and in, the latter sometimes in numbers such as we have never seen here before. The robins, instead of arriving in small numbers for a week or so before continuing their journey, instead arrived months early, the full clan, choosing to raise their young here before the cold drives them onward. The piñon jay clan has likewise returned in full force, their numbers rivaling the more common blackbirds and invasive starlings now. But in recent days, we have had two birds entirely of spring, a white-winged dove and a yellow-headed blackbird, and a brown thrasher far off course who stocked up before continuing on his way.
But there are other, smaller spirits here, too, some migratory, some pollinating, some both. The tiny birds arrived early and in number. The siskins remain, as they usually do into October; it appears that a few of the warblers who arrived in such numbers here entirely out of season are still with us. Several species of indigenous bees are here yet, availing themselves of the hardy bee balm but also rejoicing in the riot of purple asters available this year.
And there are still a few butterflies.
The monarchs, all one or possibly two of them, arrived early this year and departed just as rapidly, perhaps already seeing what we could only guess with regard to the forecast. What remains now are mostly the tiny yellow sulphurs, although within the last week or two I have seen at least one young mourning cloak, its tiny size bespeaking its immature status. But over the weekend, I encountered a new butterfly, one I at first mistook for one of the many swirling aspen leaves, gone gold and edged with brown already, swept into a cascading spiral by the chill winds.
And it did look exactly like an autumnal aspen leaf: a bright electric gold, more intense and more opaque than the yellow of the sulphurs, and the being itself was larger, too. The wings were edged in a wide border of deep bronze that traced their edges, serrated like the edges of the leaf. It took a moment to flutter around my body and my face, then danced onward toward the south, landing momentarily here and there and then vanishing, as if into thin air.
And I cannot find a butterfly that meets its description in any guide.
We do, of course, believe in such spirit beings among the animal clans; believe, too, that other spirits sometimes choose to assume more familiar forms when they decide to greet us on our own plane. Perhaps this was one such; it would not be the first time, after all, that we have been granted a visitation from a being from among such clans with no known real-world counterpart here.
I have no idea what, if anything, such a visitation would have meant. It occurred at a time when my body was wracked with pain, only a day or two before Monday’s unseasonal wintry weather hit. Perhaps it was merely a spirit wishing to enjoy one of the last glorious days of true summer weather. But it put me so solidly in mind of today’s featured masterwork that I knew without question that I would need to build the rest of the week’s themes and imagery around it. From its description in the Belts Gallery here on the site:
Solstice Light Butterfly Concha Belt
The solstice light is a transcendent gift, as transformational as any chrysalis, as graceful and gentle as the butterfly’s wings. Wings brings together turning point, spirit, and light in a work of power and medicine that takes the form of a true butterfly concha belt: no metaphors here, but a work of genuine hand-cut butterflies floating along the length of the leather. Each concha, like the buckle, is cut freehand of sterling silver, body and antennae articulated, wings scalloped at their edges by hand via meticulous ajouré saw-work. The stampwork spreads gracefully across each wing, veins like gossamer branches embracing tiny hoops in a style that evokes the fine flowing lines of Art Nouveau, and each scalloped wing edge is accented with the hand-stamped rays of a rising sun. At the center of each concha sits an oval tiger’s eye cabochon, each hand-picked for its spectacular chatoyance to rest in a scalloped bezel. The focal point of the buckle, a larger butterfly wrought similarly freehand and set into a scalloped bezel trimmed with delicate twisted silver, is a large inverted teardrop of genuine Dominican blue amber, the surface naturally textured to refract the light, the interior full of equally natural inclusions that look like tiny strands of embedded jewels floating in the light. Conchas and buckle are all lightly domed, repoussé-fashion, and each butterfly hovers atop its own bouquet via the sterling silver loops on the reverse, each hand-cut, hand-shaped, and hand-milled in a wildflower design. Each silver piece is buffed to a soft polish slightly brighter than Florentine. The belt is made of heavy black leather, hand-cut and hand-beveled, with medicine motifs in the form of bear-paw prints hand-stamped down its entire length in a repeating pattern; keeper ties are slender but sturdy braided black leather. The leather belt is 11/16″ high; the conchas are 2.25″ across at the widest point by 2″ high at the highest point; tiger’s eye cabochons are 1/2″ high by 3/8″ across; buckle is 3.5″ across at the widest point by 2.5″ high at the highest point; visible portion of the Dominican blue amber cabochon is 15/16″ high by 5/8″ across at the widest point (all dimensions approximate). Other views shown below. Note: Not designed for jeans, trousers, or any apparel with belt loops; this particular work is designed to be worn externally over shirts, blouses, or dresses.
Sterling silver; Dominican blue amber; tiger’s eye; black leather
$5,500 + shipping, handling, and insurance
Notes: Requires special handling; extra shipping charges apply.
The leather belt is a standard length; a hand-made belt in a specialty size may be ordered
(either shorter or longer) for an additional $325 charge.
The label “butterfly concha belt” is a term of art in this business, one that refers specific to an old traditional kind of belt in which the classic oval conchas are separated by slender, vertical bits of flared silver, the sort that, when turned sideways, evoke the shape of a butterfly’s wings. Wings has one such belt on offer now, a phenomenon of freehand work infused with an eminently traditional spirit.
But this . . . this is a true butterfly concha belt, one in which the label is meant literally, a phenomenon of a different sort like nothing I’ve ever seen before. At the time of its creation, it was intended to honor the solstice light of summer, hence its name — but in this place, it is just as well suited now to the equinox just past, and to the magic and mystery and medicine we find here at this season, in the amber light of autumn spirits.
I like to think that our visitor was one such spirit: perhaps in the form of one of its kind known here, perhaps not. The pups saw it, too, ready to give chase to the fluttering bit of gold and brown, so like the aspen leaves they love to pursue as they roll and romp in the grass. But in a time here when colonial conditions have forced a turning inward, a return to older ways, when we have seen countless other species of the animal clans choosing to detour for a bit of momentary sanctuary at this place, I like to think that it was one of these small spirits, here to reassure us that autumn will be a gift this year — that we shall be safe and well beneath their wings, wrapped in the season’s amber light.
~ Aji
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