It was a strong brown, a sort of visual poetry in the way it magicked tall oaks into Sarah's thoughts.
It is the brown of earth, of the nurturing soils, and of the textured skin of the trees that grows with the variation of finger prints. It is the sort of brown that bring the thoughts to comfort, yet has the bright flecks of rosy hope. As always in nature, it is so very many hues we feel and sense so much more strongly without words. So I let the colours sit in my intuition and bring that surging joy only the simple pleasures can bring so fully.
Those brown eyes are a million hues, so I wonder what the word "brown" even means. They are the forest and the autumnal leaves, the soil in summer and after the rains. How could we ever reduce something so spellbinding to one word, when the colours invite us to marvel in their simplicity.
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