My Grandma's Eyes

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My family is filled with bright blue eyes. The kind that stand out on the gloomiest of days and sparkle when the sun hits them just right. The kind that people notice as soon as they see our faces, like big rays of sunshine that peek through even the darkest of clouds.


Mine—crystal, clear in color right in the center with a ring of grey surrounding the outside. My sister’s—the same but almost more dull. My dad’s; illuminate through his square glass lenses. My mom’s—soft and consoling when spoken to. And my grandpa’s—the most dazzling eyes you’ll ever see, the type that stand out when he wears a certain shade of blue, like icy-cold rain drops. Simply by seeing the color of my family’s eyes, you can tell we are related.


However, my grandma is different. She has the brownest eyes, the kind that fill you with warmth. Not the ugly type of brown, not like mud or dirt, but instead melted chocolate that makes your heart sweeter. Her eyes, so friendly when they meet you, instantly my grandma is someone you want to know. Her eyes take away worries and fears and replace them with hope and desire. They are calming and comforting. So very calming and comforting.






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