Quality, my father used to say. You can always tell quality. I see it in his eyes.
Luminous eyes, with teasing hints of blue and green and brown, but no full disclosure. Little jewels, they are.
Eyes that possess innocence and such sweet sorrow.
Marveling eyes, mournful eyes, laughing eyes that find wonder in everything they see.
Eyes that crinkle with playful laughter, fill with angry tears, and repose oh-so-peacefully.
How can two small eyes barely six-weeks-old hold so much and feel so many things?
He once was in my dreams. And now he's in my arms.