In the Blue Skies of Her Eyes

There was a world I could see deep in the blue of her eyes. A world I could not reach, a land where the possible became the real and the real grew wings to fly across skies of the bluest of whatever could be.

Alison would sit on the window ledge, with the window in summer open in front of her and look out across the meadow at the back of the house, not really seeing the meadow, but letting her thoughts run across it until they took to the air in those blue skies of her eyes.

I sat there in the room behind her, sometimes watching her daydreaming eyes, sometimes looking down at the writing pad where I tried to capture a handful of dreams of my own.

My doodling, though, could never capture anything like the thoughts that kept Alison sitting on that window ledge watching a world of her own creation unfold its stories only for her.

Most days I struggled to make the words dance on the page. Mostly, a few words would stumble around the page, never really going anywhere, not doing anything.

Then I would look up to that window ledge with the open window and the summer behind it and I would imagine a woman sitting there with a strange world deep within the blue of her eyes. Then I wondered what that woman saw when she stared out through those world-filled eyes and then - after I’d named her Alison – then, I wrote it all down.