I’m tenderly moving the stones around the velvet-lined box of cedar. Some, I pick up to examine—peering

into their deep and light shades of color. I’m looking for beauty, clarity, and roughed authenticity, scars—yet

polished by time and conflict. The gems will string together to tell the story of what I see and don’t see, of

what I’ve hoped and believed. I’ll pass them on to the travelers of tomorrow. Some will wear them

frivolously around their necks and wrists, yet judge them kindly. Some will keep them in the box and miss

them altogether. A few will caress the stones for precious meaning. The words—they fall short, fall short until

they pass through the blood, are washed with water, and rise to pierce the heart by blazon light.

©️Bonnie Saul Wilks