Yesterday, the mercury rose into the high forties, snow melting fast beneath the blaze of golden light. Today promises more of the same, and perhaps tomorrow, too . . . at least until the next storm arrives, currently slated for tomorrow night. Even then, not much is predicted in the way of accumulation. Where once our real snow was measured in feet, now a few inches are considered deep.
Here at Red Willow, climate change and the drought that comes with it have chased winter mostly beyond the mountains and out of reach. We live now in the shadows of snow and storm: those that pass us by, and those that live only in memory, distant and otherwise.
Wings captured the image above not quite two full weeks ago. There was snow, eventually — a dusting, more on the peaks than here at their feet, not from this storm. The gold-webbed willow branches reached, yearning, for snow-laden violet clouds, earth and sky both glowing like some dream world in the fading light. And while later clouds relented, delivering a smattering of snow, this system turned its back and moved out between the peaks.
To borrow a turn of phrase from a colonial tradition, real winter weather in recent years has been a case of “so close, and yet so far”: storms blowing up and moving in, hovering low but not quite low enough, holding out hope so tantalizingly to a thirsty earth before turning instead to dance with the trickster winds that blow them beyond our reach.
It sometimes seems as though the world we knew here exists only in dreams and memory.
But sometimes, the dreams remind us that if humanity can decimate the world we knew through negligence, we should be enough to rebuild our ancestors’ vision, at least in part, with hard work and strength of spirit.
The dream world is a shadow world: one showing us what has been, and what might yet be, but with no guarantees as to the latter. It is up to us to do the work of seeking — the dream, its meaning, the means to attain its promise. And in this world, that requires not merely hard work and strength of spirit, but a brave heart, too. Mother Earth needs warriors to defend her in the process of rebuilding the ancestors’ vision, the good world proffered to us in prophecy.
Today’s featured work, wrought in the colors of storm and light, embodies the dream and the warriors who seek it — and protects them as they seek to defend it. From its description in the Accessories Gallery here on the site:
Dream Warrior Bow Guard
Some of our fiercest battles are fought in and over dreams. Wings invokes the dream warrior and and the warrior’s art in this old traditional-style bow guard. It begins with a solitary concha from one of his old belts, a piece that has spent decades in his private collection: multiple layers of solid, heavy sterling silver hand-cut into ovals of ascending size, the base layer scalloped gracefully around its edge, all stacked atop each other in an overlay pattern. Each layer is edged with hand-stamped chased images in traditional designs — the force of the lightning, the shelter of the lodge, the power of the rising sun. The center oval is domed, repoussé-fashion, and the entire finished concha is domed yet again to trace the line of the wrist. A small sturdy column of sterling silver arises from its center to hold the bezel of the central stone securely in place. The stone itself is an extraordinary giant cabochon of high-grade Cloud Mountain turquoise from China’s Hubei District, bright teal blue and webbed in inky indigo as tightly and thoroughly as Grandmother Spider’s dreamcatcher, set into a saw-toothed bezel and trimmed with bold twisted silver. Flanking the center concha are a pair of tiny round conchas whose stampwork repeat the lodge motif around diminutive round blue-green center stones. The conchas are screwed into a band of warm golden-hued moosehide, thick, sturdy and velvety to the touch. The band extends outward three inches beyond each small concha to allow for custom cutting and lacing to fit the wearer. In its current from, prior to sizing to suit, the full band extends 11.25″ long by 2.25″ high; the small conchas are 2-7/8″ across and their cabochons are 1/4″ across; the center concha is 3/5/8″ high by 2.75″ across, and the focal cabochon is 2″ high by 1-3/8″ across at the widest point (dimensions approximate). Other views shown below.
Sterling silver; high-grade Cloud Mountain turquoise; old blue-green turquoise; moosehide
$2,500 + shipping, handling, and insurance
And we do need protection in navigating the dream world. The doors in it labeled “memory” are often far too attractive, and it is far too easy to become lost in them. That way lies false hope, and worse; however good the good old days used to be (and they were often anything but, in far too many ways), the future we face is far different.
Once in a while I find myself recalling images Wings captured of winters past, shots of beauty and mystery, of violet skies and golden light above a snow-covered earth.
Such was the case with this image from near ten years ago now, captured in January of 2010 at a time when family obligations forced me to be elsewhere for a time in a place with no snow at all.
It showed the same willows from nearly the same vantage point, and from roughly the same point in the day. The small “tree” of ancient wood held in place by still more ancient stones is gone now, moved to a garden plot just beneath the kitchen window. The electric fence, though, is back in place, the better to permit the horses to gallop and graze in safety. The willows are larger now, if newly trimmed. And what the nostalgia that haunts my melancholy memory recalled as a heavy snow had by then melted to merely a dusting, too.
It is true that there was more snow then; the blanketing of the peaks, and the extent to which it covers the slopes, are both proof of that. But it is also proof that the dreams of memory deceive, and if we are not careful, they will keep us from recognizing both starting points and tipping points. For by 2010, the visible effects of climate change were already long since under way here.
It is long past time to fight, and to arm ourselves for the battle.
It’s what makes today’s featured work important. No, of course it is not a real bow guard in the sense of shielding one’s hands from the slings and arrows of others, or even from one’s own. Moosehide is both heavy and strong — I have cause to know, given that one of my pairs of moccasins is made from this very same animal’s hide — but it’s not that strong. Projectiles can pierce it; string of bow and shaft of arrow can wear it away. No, this piece is spiritual armor.
For most of us now, our battles tend to be fought more with pixels and fiber optics than with arrows and bows . . . but if we are not careful, if we do not armor up now and do the work, it will be time again to put our bodies on the line, and sooner than we like to think.
The cuff of this replica is thus just heavy enough to remind the wearer of its presence: a soft, comfortable band of velvety hide that nonetheless is substantial enough to make its message impossible to forget or ignore. Wings cut it as an extended piece, as yet unpunched and unlaced, to be sized at purchase to fit the person who will ultimately wear it.
The stone and setting, though . . . that’s another matter. Each is large enough to form a shield of sorts; together, they might not stop an arrow from a modern bow, but they could certainly deflect more traditional points. Its solidity and substance are reassuring, a reminder of that which we must not forget.
It was a reminder I needed as recently as this morning. I chose the images for this post expecting to make one point, and instead found myself faced with quite another: thinking that the change from ten years ago would be stark, and instead finding that a host I captured myself seven days ago in fact looked much the same.
There are differences beyond the obvious changes to the trees and the absence of the petrified wood — what appears to be a like amount of snow on the ground is in fact less, because it had not melted yet, and the slopes stay evergreen further up than before. But is not nearly the difference the dream world of memory had led me to expect. Even so, the storm is farther away, and the shadows are longer now.
It’s an object lesson in where we put our focus when we presume to seek visions and dreams. It’s far too easy to slip into those that look back, to a world relatively recent or one long past, but that in any case, never was as we think we remember it. The whole point of seeking a vision is forward-looking; we need dreams not to foretell the future but to show us what could be if we are willing to fight for it.
And now, we need their guidance, not to escape the lines the fall from the light of the past, but those that beckon us to a better world of our making. At this time of year, those are shadows of snow and storm, of strength of spirit to do the work, and the brave hearts to lead the fight.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2019; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
