We had to be up and out of the house early this morning, but not early enough to miss the full panoply of morning possibilities for weather and sky. The clouds had appeared overnight, and while the sunrise was bright, it was still filtered through the spaces between walls the color of blue slate. We had an early rain, then more sun and clouds, then a late-morning rain, and now in the midday hours, it appears that the real storm is here, having spent the last several minutes spreading from the northern peaks to us at their feet. The day is as chilly as it is gray, and I noticed on our way home that the gtters and verges were already scattered with a layer of golden leaves, leaving little doubt as the potential for an early winter.
On a day when so much of this land mass is suffocating under a dangerously oppressive heatwave, it seems odd to be debating whether to wait until evening or to go ahead and build a fire in the woodstove now.
Yes, it’s summer, just — but fall is already well settled in for the duration, too. The overlap is not odd; Indian summer (and I know younger Natives hate the phrase, but for people of our generation, it felt like something glorious that was all our own) usually returns briefly in October, with a few days of temperatures well into the eighties, falling squarely in the middle of fall’s abundant sun and clear turquoise skies. This weather is more akin to the fall days of my own homelands, but not at all unwelcome.
We have, in fact, seen a succession of beautiful days since the calendar turned over to meteorological fall. It seems that more than the weather forecasters (and children like I once was) have felt a fundamental shift beginning on September first. The wild sunflowers have exploded at long last, as has the profusion of new gold in the leaves of the trees. The hummingbirds know, too: On that day, the turquoise dawn saw the usual gathering at the feeders, but by evening, only four or so remained. I saw only two yesterday, but a third showed herself today. It’s clear, however, that something shifted in their internal clocks along with the date on the calendar, and most of them have begun, en masse, their migratory journey to warmer climes.
If September first indicates insufficient warmth for them now, It’s a fairly safe bet that winter will be cold, deep, and early this year.
And so we know that we must appreciate such warm winds as are left to us now, and what remains of the light, as well. The light is growing short with astonishing rapidity now, leaving us less time to enjoy the turquoise dawn and dusk of autumn days.
It’s a phenomenon found in those rare minutes that bookend each day now, that elusive moment of stillness that is so hard to find anymore. It’s there in the morning, in those moments when the coral fire of the clouds finally breaks apart to reveal the blue expanse beneath; in the evening, too, as twilight turns the west into a perfect gradient from midnight to amber and every shade between, seamlessly aglow around the diamond shimmer of the Evening Star. And it’s there in both pieces of today’s featured work, an old-style pair of traditional earrings, perfect oval medallions with minimal stampwork adorned by two extraordinary cabochons of electric sky blue. From their description in the Earrings Gallery here on the site:
Turquoise Dawn Earrings
One of the jewels of the desert is the turquoise dawn. Wings invokes its beauty and power with these classic earrings, wrought in traditional fashion of silver and stone. The sterling silver settings are formed of bright oval medallions, polished to a mirror sheen and edged all the way around in hand-stamped sunrise symbols to catch and refract the light. At their centers, in spare, low-profile bezels, rest a pair of stunning free-form Arizona cabochons, brilliant sky blue and dusted with bits of earthy red-gold matrix. Each earrings hangs 1-5/8″ long by 1-3/16″ across at the widest point; each cabochon is roughly 7/8″ long by 1/4″ across at the widest point.
Sterling silver; natural Arizona turquoise
$775 + shipping, handling, and insurance
For the first time perhaps since I first wrote the description for this pair, I noticed that I had written”Turuqoise Mountain” for the source of the cabochons. But I had always been convinced, in that way the you remember things and still “know” them by the evidence that supports them, that they were in fact Bisbee, and I have no memory of them ever being identified to me otherwise. It’s one of the dangers of writing while subject simultaneously to continuous interruptions and to the brain fog of autoimmune disease: You know what you intend to write, but something filters into your thought process during the interruption, and instead of writing what you intended you write what seems to ahve replaced it in your thoughts. That, I suspect, is what happened here.
But I can’t be sure; it’s been too long.
But the stones themselves hold every hallmark of Bisbee, from the intensity of the blue color to the smoky red siltstone matrix — even to the freeform shapes and surfaces. And given when he acquired these, something like a decade ago, as I recall, what was coming out of Turquoise Mountain then was as distinctive in its own way, but paler, with finer, lighter webbing instead of bold patches and floating wisps of matrix.
And so, I have split the difference, so to speak: Both mines are in Arizona, and I have edited the desciption to read “natural Arizona turquoise.” Of that, there is no question. It makes no difference to the beauty or value of the earrings, either; these are phenomenal specimens of the Skystone, hard and bright and endlessly beautiful.
Of Wings’s entire body of work, this has always been one of my favorite pairs of earrings. Classic lines, traditional style, radiant stampwork on shimmering silver, and those incredible one-of-a-kind stones: These are a chance to capture the fleeting fleeting beauty of fall skies and wear it year-round.
That beauty is especially fleeting here this day; the rain has come and gone repeatedly, returning over and over to pummel everything in its path, then recede once more like a mischievous child playing tag. Just now, the sun has broken through the clouds . . . and now, has faded again just as fast. The gray remains, as does the promise of more rain, badly needed and always welcome.
For now, it’s the turquoise dawn and dusk that we celebrate, the gradient of pure clarity and perfect color that we associate with the season, but soon enough, it will be the gray-blue of clouds heavy with snow.
Or so we hope.
Oh, and for those who were wondering: The debate was short. The fire is blazing away in the woodstove already.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2022; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
