I Love Your Soul
The color around here is so staunch and burly lately…one of the blessings of winter is when robust chroma presses up against white.
I have so many things to tell you, so many things to say, but the words come on as ghosts, fragments, intangible wisps. I am patient.
Look, my geranium is blooming!
[Nomad Necklace — White Buffalo :: sterling silver, copper, enamel, prehnite, trade beads & aventurine]
There’s just something about bison that shouts *interior West* to me. He’s like a ponderosa pine tree — a grandfather to so many things, a ghost, a spring creek, the black of a thunderstorm against the Rockies front, the bulk of the Tetons erasing the sky, the rumbling belches of Yellowstone…a pair of train tracks headed for the horizon, grey wolves, cowboy boots, patchwork quilts, rough and ready folks…you know, the things that stitch the massive and wild territory of the interior West together.
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I think once we make it here, we’re all stuck like glue to the continental divide, the rise and the fall of it, like so many bison in days gone by. We’re rivers running, wind sweep, bee sting and the stink of blooming sagebrush on the wide frontier.
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This is the white buffalo. Something extra special: peace bringer. He holds a pale green hope in the echoing broadness of his chest.
[Wing & Wood Earrings :: sterling silver, rooster feathers, quartz, fluorite, Idaho willow branch, Idaho juniper branch]
[Lycaenidae Stacking Rings :: sterling with 23 karat gold accents]
Oh! The beauty of the delicate. I’m feeling delicate this week so I’ve been making delicate things. These little stacking ring sets are inspired by the edges of my creek in springtime. On warm afternoons, where the sun hits full and warms the tack of the dirt paths, the smallest butterflies will congregate in flittering jamborees, sip their swamp water with fluted tongues and start the winds whirling with their placid flutterings (somewhere in the distance a hurricane is born). Anytime I catch them pooling and spooling in the spring sunshine, I stop running for a while, crouch there with them on the ground, and coax one or two to land on my finger tips. Oh. The beauty of the delicate.
Besides feeling pretty and delicate and small this week, I think my heart of winter loving hearts may be yearning for a thaw, hoping for a ribbon of warmth to sneak its way into my life and wrap every good thing up with a turquoise bow.
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Last night when I was running with Farley, I was chugging up a steep hill and as I crested it, my entire being met the full glory of the sun as it crowned the West bench on the other side of the valley — it was hung up on a mountain peak and the world was swimming in pink haze, snow blush and wild fire. I thought every single warm, beautiful, generously giving light on our fair planet was shining directly in my face. I opened up my mouth and sang one pure, long note, held my arms out wide, and the light poured itself down my throat, like a hot drink, and settled somewhere inside my ribcage. Now my heart beats with alpenglow and I know I’m not forsaken. It was holytastic. And I felt loved. Loved by the Light.
