Her eyes are a mix of brown and green surrounded by a grayish blue, like tiny wet marble models of our world; they are mysteriously old like the world itself and hold eons of the unknown. I could stare into her eyes endlessly, if she kept still long enough for me to do so. She is breathtakingly beautiful, perfectly imperfect, wild and free, and tragically broken just like our planet.
Water leaked from the blue ocean iris of her eyes, “Mommy! It’s hard!!”
The salty water streamed like rivers breaking the dry sand colored surface of her cheeks and I had to look away before answering her. “Baby, I know; and, you can do hard things.”
I turned back to face her. The earthen-clay color of my eyes reflected back in hers momentarily. I wasn’t lying, but still I had trouble holding her gaze. The truth was she did hard things every day, all day. Most things for her are like trying to grow crops from drought starved fields; difficult and seemingly impossible. Yet, miraculously she grows; like the verdant sprouts that eventually blanket the most unlikely of parcels.
Everyday I wish things were different for her; but, that would be like wishing the wet marble we live on was not brown and green surrounded by a grayish blue.