Author, wanderer, enthusiast
The Syrian family had strikingly clear eyes. A refracting blue like crystal – hard and bright and the color of the shallow waters off Korakas or the eastern sky before dawn.
But I didn’t notice.
I didn’t notice when I met the family of four on the beach, surrounded by thirty Afghanis who didn’t speak any English, but who shone their appreciation in the illuminated sigils of white smiles and worried hands resting, exhausted, at their sides. I didn’t notice when they answered questions and helped organize the other refugees and migrants, or when I spoke with the father on the walk up the steep dirt road to where we would wait for transportation.
