I slip into wakefulness contemplating the incandescence of eyes. Of the cat’s sea glass green eyes. Of the eyes of my childhood friend’s mother, my friend, Stella, the star, who passed away three or four years ago. I dream of her often; she is always smiling and laughing. Her eyes are deep, watchful, leonine eyes that crinkle at the corners when she smiles. David was her first husband. His lambent eyes are also present in my dreams; warm, brown, thoughtful eyes.
I should call David. I often think this, but I never do it. It was true of Stella, too, while she lived. My body still feels as though it is swaying on the waves after the ferry ride I took yesterday. Rocking around on the bay may be what summoned these visions. Stella and David often took us to the lake in the center of the valley during the summer. We would ride the waves. It was a wonderful time. They made me feel so loved, so at home.
The light that comes from our eyes is like the glimmer of the stars, when it is there. Lively light. Surprising light. Does the radiance of one soul shine into another through their eyes? An exchange of resplendence that makes us luminous kin? I think so. I know so. Surely a flicker of Stella and David are bundled with the sparkle of my eyes, emitted to those who receive my gaze.
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So incredibly insightful and also sad...the profundity of your writing is so consistent and now expected every time I read your work! thank you!