It’s the envy that runs through me when my brother does better than me. 

It’s the grass that tickles our bare feet as we run around like fools.  

It’s the the bottle that you have grown to hate.  

It’s her eyes when she tells you she loves you. 

It’s the moss that covers the graves of your friends. 

It’s your face when you eat too much on Thanksgiving.  

Dark, with glimmering excitement and brilliant trouble.

That’s the color you see when you accidentally cause the laughter with your antics.

How a cider heated on the cast iron stove feels as it slips down your throat.

That’s the color you see. The color that fills you with warmth, just as the cider does.

Those eyes.

I see them when I look to my side and see their tenderness gazing down to me.

The color of my thoughts as I plan ahead.

They’re a tender hug and a kiss that is broken by laughter.

The color of possibility.

Those eyes.

Dark, the way the rich turned soil appears as you kneel in the garden.

That’s the color of the brownies baked fresh just to make you smile.

When you’re surprised by a treat and a single touch on your back as to not startle you.

That’s the color you see as you look up.

Those eyes.

The thick, dark amber of the syrup from the tall tree with the most beautiful leaves.

That’s the color that peeks out of the perfect face surrounded by the crinkles of laughter.

Dark, sweet, caramelized apples with brown sugar and crumble cooling out of the oven.

That’s the color you see when you guilty look up after sneaking a bite.

Those eyes are so much more than just brown.