“Thank you, doctor,” I said via my own expressive raised eyebrow, accented by genuflection.  I went back outside.
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In the late sixties I was drawn to a song by British composer Leslie Bricusse, “When I Look in Your Eyes.” The music was haunting, the lyrics discomforting. They spoke of a depth of feeling and life experience I did not have.

Sometimes now I’ll hear teens debate the “best” eye color—hazel? blue? green? brown?—or the color they wish they’d been born with. I smile. I know someday they’ll understand. The loveliest eyes are simply and always the ones that love yours back.

_________________

In your eyes

I see the deepness of the sea

I see the deepness of the love,

The love I feel you feel for me.

Autumn comes, summer dies

I see the passing of the years in your eyes

And when we part there’ll be no tears, no goodbyes,

I’ll just look into your eyes.

Those eyes, so wise, so warm, so real

How I love the world your eyes reveal.

A few months into second grade, Mom said, “Mrs. Floyd was wondering if you’re having trouble seeing the board. Are you?” “No, Mommy. I can always see the board.”
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Science calls it Iris Recognition technology. Most humans call it looking into the windows of the soul.
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