We wandered past and were caught by the glint of blue glass in the window. From a cutter’s room in Czechoslovakia to the neck of his high-society love to the hands of a young heir to the shipment of consignment pieces landing in the states to the hands of a shopkeeper in Boulder to the window of said shop and into my eyes, then hands, each piece has a lifetime of its own, much lived before I was even born and now a part of mine.
That jewelry store today did not just sparkle with shining things, it rang with love and loss, dreamy eyes and relaxed remembrance. Every piece, dozens of stories. A story for every facet. And when I slipped the art deco emerald onto my finger, it sang a song of joy and good times. The tourmaline, a sense of earth and clarity. The canary surrounded by white, a precious and precarious moment, fleeting and sparrow-light. And the cat’s eye moonstone, it was like drinking warm sake - clear and soothing with a splash of awe.
I think there are few things more beautiful in this world than the story of love that follows a precious gem from generation to generation. Today, holding and loving those pieces for their innate beauty, old-world craftsmanship, and physical and emotional heritage, I too became part of the story, part of their beauty.
This beautiful story can be found at: