Blue

The sun shone down hot and strong, like it was reaching down and pushing on our shoulders, burning our skin, blanketing us with warmth.  On our chairs, toes buried deep in the sand, eyes closed, fingers brushing fingers, there is no where else.

The air smells like salt.  Like peace and joy and the sea.

Before I fall asleep, I open my eyes, just a bit.  Just enough to get a glimpse of blue.  No, not blue.  The word blue isn’t enough.  What I saw was pure, liquid sky, both clear and saturated, comforting and overwhelming.  A blue so bright and vivid it hurt my eyes but I couldn’t look away.  It was the blue artists try to emulate but can never quite get right. 

Nothing artificial could ever be this beautiful.

***

Her eyes.  They see into me, they know my heart, they comfort my soul.  They are the colour of old, worn out blue jeans.  Loved and broken in.  Her eyes, like the jeans.  They are the eyes of an old soul and they know more than she lets on.  I could stare at her eyes forever and forget where I am because I am no where but in those eyes.

Her eyes.  They sparkle with laughter.  Taunting and teasing, tickling me with their mischievous joy.  Her eyes know all the punch lines and they’re keeping them to themself.  They’re piercing blue, light and sweet, enraptured and ablaze.

My children have the most beautiful eyes I’ve known.  They’re expressive and captivating.  They are eyes that reflect joy and charm and they are eyes that will know love.

***

I am participating in the Indie Ink Writing Challenge. Each week I’ll be tackling a challenge issued by another writer participating in the exercise. This week, Wide Lawns gave me this:

Choose a specific colour.  Write about a couple of experiences involving this same colour. Find the metaphor or meaning in the color.

The first part was fiction, the second part was non.