#150
The best part of the trip was when the dog laid his head on my lap during the flight.
The next best part was when the woman at the car rental counter gave him a small bit of her pizza. Then, when he remembered that when I eat gelato, he gets the bottom of the crunchy cone.
Here, when you order espresso, you order a nero. Which is in great contrast to the color of eyes I’ve seen. A blend of blue, grey, green, brown, bright with light that reminds me how different we all are. I remember seeing the same blend of colors in an australian shepard - also bright with life. Here, the waiter who takes my order, or the child who plays under our table while we talk about life and drink, their eyes tell a story of a part of the world that has seen more life than most. It’s a kind color, and one that I have no word for, no English word. I ask my friend and she dosen’t have a word in Italian for it either.
In the north of France, Brittany, the color is glaz. There, like here, the eyes tell a different story than the one we think we know. Betraying their history in a glance.
Later, when the dog and I go out for a late afternoon walk, a cruise ship is in port, and there is a stream of travelers waiting to board, ready to see the next stop tomorrow after a night spent sleeping to the waves. In the cafe, the old one with the books and the mirrors and the decor of 100 years ago, the cafe of Joyce, we have a drink and sit and watch. Listen. Far from bored. The cashier here also has eyes of glaz. I’m instantly captivated, falling in love over and over again with only a glimpse of a person through eye color.
It’s the color of the sea on a day when, you can’t quite place what it is you should be doing, so you go to the water to swim it out and sit there, content on a towel, and see the eyes of those in town in the depths.