Stories for a brown eyed girl

Her brown eyes looked into his eyes and made a small warmth in the middle of him that warmed his whole body.

Her brown eyes were the earth in which he and his abuelo walked each day of their migrant working lives.

Her brown eyes were the tender bark of the peach trees into which he and his abuelo reached during the South Carolina summers on the Charleston farms.

Her brown eyes were the blanket his abuela made from the colors of the flowers of the beautiful mountains of the countryside of El Salvador.

“You know,” he thought as he looked into her brown eyes, “They’re just like my abuela’s blanket, for they wrap me and keep me warm.”