In defiance of all the forecasts, it looks as though we shall have more snow today. The weekends storm produced perhaps five inches overall — not much, but in such drought-ridden days, no less welcome for that. As is typical here after a storm, the mercury plunged, and the forecast predicted zero chance of any precipitation for yesterday and today.
At this moment, it is snowing on the peaks, and the clouds have descended to envelop us here at their feet.
It’s a welcome development, if an unexpected one; our only norm now seems to be that nothing is normal or predictable anymore. The wild creatures know it, too: In defiance of all usual patterns and sense of self-preservation, the goldfinches and the chokecherry birds seem determined to winter with us this year, and both are busy mining the catkins blooming four months early on the aspens outside the house on the north side.
Perhaps they know something we don’t.
That something, unfortunately, is unlikely to bode well for us. This is a La Niña year, for us never a good thing, but with the ravages of climate change and the 500-year drought is has visited upon us this last quarter century, a drought intensifying yearly now, the current weather patterns have the potential to be deadly indeed.
And yet, also in defiance of the new patterns and predictions, the snow is here.
Perhaps what the small birds know is that the spirits have more in mind for us than the merest survival.
Now in this second half-millennium of colonialism on these lands, we have had cause to learn just how long its reach truly is, how controlling of systems and structures, how deeply embedded in souls and spirits. Among its direct effects is climate change itself, and all the flows from it — or in our case, perhaps, it’s less a case of anything flowing, since there is no water, than it is of shadows cast, long, forbidding, and with a reach far greater than the angle of the light. We are seeing its poisonous fruits everywhere now; it is, after all, the creator and driver of the deadly viral pandemic that continues to claim our peoples in far greater proportion than it does those in colonial populations.
We have lost much this year. We shall lose much more before it is done.
Still, the small birds are instructive; so is the snow, and the short yet powerful light. They are here against powerful odds, and like the willow in the image above captured three short days ago, they show every sign of standing firm now.
We could do far worse than to follow their lead.
Today is a new moon; the solstice, which we mark as the start of our personal new year, is less than a week hence now. Yes, the shadows are long, but the winter light is stronger than we know.
And in defiance of the shadows, the snow is here with the light.
~ Aji
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