Gold and silver and diamond and citrine and peridot: metal and stone fashioned and finessed into beauty and charm that keep me grounded in ancestry and lift me up into the glittery now. These metal and stone pieces of art hold my attention. Remembering the hand that wore it first. Seeing the new place on a younger finger. Fidgeting with it on my own hand. Timeless pieces are powerful enough to send you far. They move you.

I can get lost recalling the wrist or finger once embellished with the jewelry that now adorns me. These heirlooms bring back childhood wonder and my own sweetnesses. Me carelessly spinning my mother’s diamond engagement ring during a long sermon. The Christmas my father gifted my mother the square ring and I was dazzled. My own spouse on one knee with a diamond in her hand. The smoky quartz that called my name. Bangles, lots, gold, all given in the service of replacing the one I lost, now clank on my wrist through the busy day. Colored stones too. Weighted with energy, reminding us of dark and light and earth and air and fire that snakes right into our soul. I am obsessed.

There are gold days. There are days that need gold. There are days that perhaps don’t.

I scan my dresser and select with need in mind. What is calling me today? Which love?

There are days when crystal calls me. Hanging from the neck and ears. Transmitting frequencies and directing one’s higher self straight up and out. Or directing the gaze inward. Either way a discovery is sure to follow. Perhaps even a solution. For certain.

And there is always a favorite too. The tiny stones that represent now grown adults who I cradled so very long ago. That ring is the starry night and the golden dawn and all the love that spirals between us four. That one I wear as often as possible. Daily. Yes.