I still vividly remember the age I was when my Grandmother told me the tale of ‘The Golden Apples of Old.’ For those who do not know the tale, it can take a few days to come to the end, like a storybook but never written just passed down. The week she told me was the end of summer before the 6th grade. School was coming and the air was changing; the way it did at that time when we were young. Before the seasons were tampered with. When the summer breaks were longer and seemed to bleed to the edge of the Fall season like red ink reaching passed the seam-line on white fabric. That week I had long vivid dreams that didn’t leave me during the daytime. My Grandmother told me to write them down and I did. I believe I still remember them like a memory of life because of this. I don’t believe that it is coincidence that our dreams and our memories are recalled the same. With that foggy borderline that frames the edges. They seem to hold hands and walk together with their feet in sequence. One night I returned to the same place I had left the night before as if my daytime experience of being awake was a sleepwalking place holder until I could get back to the same place in the book. I was surrounded by trees with white flowers decorating each branch; their arms floated on a chilly wind and my cheeks were cold along with the tip of my nose. I met a women under one of the trees but it was myself just an older version of me. I scanned my ‘older self’ and her face. I looked so different that I wasn’t sure it was me but I noticed her eyes and those were my eyes. I have central heterochromia and the pattern is distinct in everyone who has it (a lot of people do) and that was the first thing I recognized. It was me! The older ‘me’ handed myself an Opal Apple; it glistened of Gold. I told my older self that I wasn’t Snow White and my ‘older self’ replied, ‘I don’t expect you to be.’ I bit into the apple and it tasted like iron. As the opening began to bleed apple juice; the air that once smelled like the sweetest flower fragrance was soon replaced with the smell of iron. The flowers began to wilt, the sky turned to night, and stars started to fall down onto the land. By the time they touched any life of the land they were the size of pebbles and felt like little hot coals landing on my skin. A reminder of rain drops but they were not wet they were fire. My older self said, ‘Go back now and remember the blood of the land is in your veins. The golden apples of old are waiting for everyone. We will meet again everyday of your life.' • • • #ThingsMyGrandmotherTaughtMe #InDreams #Nicodemus #crueltyfree #epj #ethicallysourced #tableWand #crowClaw #epjmagicktoolssedah #EvilPawnJewelry #adornyourselfinmetal #EarthMedicine #AdornYourselfInQuartz