The Lovely Browns

A long time ago, in a land faraway, I was brown. Not in skin tone—that remains ghostly pale—but in spirit. Browns are the colors of earth, of wood, of autumn leaves. Browns fill my soul with the richness of life that lives underground.

To honor the brown in my spirit, I wore brown. A brown beret. A brown hoodie. Brown boots. A brown jacket. The rich background of brown made my red hennaed hair sparkle, my International Klein blue eyes deeper. Brown was my color.

Then I met a man who felt dried out and exhausted by brown. He said he’d been around brown for too long, and instead needed deep nourishing greens. I loved this man, and at his command I gave away almost all my brown. My heart curled up a little, but my love for this man was so vast that I thought it was big enough to uncurl.

But the giving away of my brown was only one of many things that made my heart curl.

Years passed. Things happened. I live now in a place of many colors.

And I kept some of my browns all through those years, the ones I could not bear to give away. The beret. The little hoodie, now worn at the sleeve seams. Another hooded shirt with bell sleeves, made from unbearable softness. Reminders that I almost gave away my whole self but did not, because here I still am.

My hair is still red. My eyes, still blue. And my spirit remains brown, the color of earth, of wood, of autumn leaves.