It’s Quiet Season at Red Willow now, a time to allow village and earth alike to rest. No vehicular traffic is permitted within the village walls, and the world turns inexorably to a softer, gentler season.
It’s a healthy way, one that reflects a dedication to living in harmony. It’s also a way of life increasingly hard to find anywhere else, in world not merely post-industrial but in many ways post-technological; the sound and sense of our days has been, for generations, the shriek and rumble of powerful motors and engines that drive those days relentlessly onward.
Real quiet is now virtually unattainable in most places, at once a luxury item and a mark of impoverished abandonment.
For a society to celebrate it, protect it, honor it, ensure its continued existence? It’s a sign of cultural strength and power.
It’s fitting that it should come with the first of the winter moons, the one my own call the Little Spirit Moon. Just in time, winter has arrived on a cold north wind, bringing with it warmth as low as the shortened light, balanced by a moon large enough to illuminate the lengthening dark.
The north wind brings other spirits, too.
We have thus far had very little that looks like winter: virtually no snow on the ground here; precious little real cold; wild creatures here long after their usual departure dates, while others’ arrivals remain delayed. In warm years such as this one seems to be shaping up to be, we get fewer raptors in this region — there’s no need, when a higher mercury brings abundant prey to the surface in areas farther removed from human contact.
So in a year such as this, when a raptor appears, it feels like a special gift of the spirits.
They are mostly solitary, these powerful avian spirits. And they are as diverse as they are sparse now: Bald Eagle, Golden Eagle, Red-Tailed Hawk, Swainson’s Hawk, Cooper’s Hawk, Northern Harrier, American Kestrel, Great Horned Owl, Turkey Vulture, many more species in various shapes and sizes. Sooner or later, they all put in an appearance, although it may be years between visitations. But in recent weeks, we have been blessed with the continued presence of our partners on this land, a mated pair of red-tailed hawks, and an unexpected visitation from each of the eagles.
Wings captured the image above more than a decade ago, a lone eagle perched atop an ancient outcropping not many miles from here. He seemed fully aware of Wings’s presence and interest, and just as unbothered by it, turning his head occasionally to stare directly at him, then turning back to his view of the world laid out below. No throne ever held a richer or more powerful king.
We are less likely to see the eagles here, although occasionally one will perch atop one of the ancient cottonwoods in the fields along Highway 64 north of town. They rarely appear more than singly, and they don’t stay long; open field notwithstanding, the area is too congested with humankind for their comfort. They are more likely to make their way to the Rio Grande Gorge and the Quartzite rapids, which, while inhabited, feature waterside slopes too rugged for the average person to traverse.
The Gorge is a perfect winter habitat for raptors: isolated despite the highway wending alongside parts of it; fast waters filled with small prey; and plenty of basaltic outcroppings and ancient trees to provide the perfect vantage point for hunting. On occasion, mated pairs will take up residence for the cold moons of the year, hunting in tandem or merely enjoying the opportunity to let the morning sun warm their wings.
But where people are concerned, they keep their distance.
No one ever said they were not wise spirits.
Here, however, the hawks that occasionally perch along the highway or soar overhead have made this space their home. It’s been true for years of several mated pairs, from the red-tails to whom this land belongs mostly year-round to the Swainson’s of the summer months to the kestrel family that took up more or less permanent instead of migratory residence only in the last couple of years to the Cooper’s hawks whose union ended far too early, the male killed by a larger raptor. I was the one who found his small body, throat torn out; Wings took care of it in the old way. And then his mate return, lost, confused, seeking her love and knowing that something terrible had occurred, unable to understand fully and thus to come to terms with it. I led her to the spot where he had been found; she then followed to me to where he was at rest, and seemed to understand, and grieve. She now returns every winter, as though by visiting us briefly, she remembers and honors her lost love. I have never seen her with another.
The ones to whom this land seems most to belong, however, are the red-tails. They are scarce during the warmest months, no more than a single rare sighting for weeks at a time. They come on cooler winds, and make a permanent home here during the coldest months.
As always, the female, the larger of the two, arrives first.
She often departs first, too.
She is the bolder of the two, as well. Her spouse is skittish, wary of human contact and willing to follow her lead, but she is a warrior, brave of heart and strong of spirit. She knows us both well now, and has been known to veer off course to come and greet us, responding to the sound of our laughter by tipping her wings, as though to let us know that she joins in our joy.
She comes and goes at will, though: arriving on the point of a single talon, taking flight on a whim and the slightest of winds. She is a firebird in her own right, a dancer of the sky worlds, and she leads her husband on a wild chase upon the currents for the sheer joy of it.
He always follows; she is willing to stay behind alone, but he is not. He seems happier on the hunt, as though providing for her is his task in life, and most likely it is — but it has the added advantage of avoiding too much proximity to other beings who may not be entirely trusted to have her, or their, best interests at heart. She, though, made up her mind some years ago, at least with regard to us: She allows us to come only so close before putting the space of air and sky between us, but as much as it is possible for a wild hawk to trust a human, she seems to have faith in us and our motivations.
Hers is a courageous heart and a warrior spirit: Perhaps recalling her ancestor’s ancient association with the Thunderbirds, yet still mindful that he was cast down to the lower strata for neglecting his duties, she has become the very embodiment of the warrior ethos, standing strong and flying true no matter the circumstances surrounding her. Her kind are also known as messengers and emissaries, guardians and guides. and occasionally she escorts more powerful beings to us when we need the medicine they offer.
She also arrives with a message whenever I need her most.
Sometimes it’s a reminder that I can stand strong even when my balance is bad, that it’s possible remain upright even though I stumble.
Sometimes it’s a word of advice on turning a stumble into something more, taking a slip spreading my wings and making it into a shawl dance.
Sometimes it’s just a moment of sheer joy and unearthly beauty, a reminder that there is much to love in each day.
But sometimes, the message is more overt. She has been known, and recently, too, to enlist help: to escort beings who hold more powerful medicine to us, to circle and dance with them overhead, their presence a mix of their own joy at being and a reminder to us to hold a strong heart and brave spirit.
In October, a few days after my birthday, she brought the War Eagle to us.
You cannot see her in that image, but she is there, circling behind him just out of camera range. She seemed to guide him directly overhead, then fall back to follow his lead as they danced in a circle upon the winds. He is the larger and more powerful of the eagles, the one who flies with the warriors as leader and guide, and his message on that day seemed to be one one of flying true.
We heeded it.
Then yesterday, she appeared again, new visitor flying before her. I suspect the bald eagle was not really new, only gone from the area for a time.
I like to think it was the reappearance of our friend from near a year ago, a visitant in last year’s Little Spirit Moon.
Whether standing strong or flying true, their message is one of medicine, of power.
Here, we welcome it, and them with it.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2017; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owners.
