Carved from the clear heart of the earth thousands of years ago, this arrowhead is more than a tool; it is a captured moment of ancient intention. Shaped from pure quartz by the patient, skilled hands of an early Native American artisan, its creation was a dialogue between human need and the unyielding nature of stone. Using little more than antler and stone, the maker released this perfect form from its core, flaking each edge into a razor-sharp symmetry that was as lethal as it was beautiful.

Quartz was never a casual choice. Beyond its sharpness, it held a spiritual resonance—a substance of strength and clarity, believed to bridge the earthly and the divine. Light does not merely glance off its surface; it pᴀsses through, illuminating the artifact from within, making it a vessel for both sunlight and meaning. This small, perfect point once tipped a shaft that flew towards bison or deer, its flight a critical link in the chain of survival, transforming potential energy into sustenance for a community through the harsh turn of seasons.

Now, its work is done. It rests silent in the soil, no longer a weapon but a witness. In its crystalline sharpness, we find a profound and ancient reflection: that the line between creation and destruction is often as fine as its own edge. The same instinct that shaped this object of beauty was the one that aimed it toward life, to take one so that another might endure.

It asks us, in our age of disconnected abundance, a quiet but piercing question: What do we still know of that sacred, necessary balance? What does it mean to create with such respect, and to take with such reverence?