almond flounder meunière
My favorite color is and always will be brown. Brown. Brown is neither dull nor dark. It’s neither one-dimensional nor ordinary. In grade school, I used to fake it. While the girls declared their love for purple and donned their pinkest duds for the first day, I would say I liked blue or something, my neutral and monochromatic ensembles pointing to another affinity.
Brown is the richest of all the colors. It’s the color of the tea that calms my nerves and its usual dark chocolate accompaniment. The French word, “brun,” is essentially an adjective used to describe brown or dark hair, eyes, etc. Coincidentally, it was one of the hardest for me to pronounce when I first started learning. Always having trouble with “r” in any language, English included, I couldn’t fathom jumping from the bilabial “b” to that distinct French “r” with much success. It took years and a French minor to perfect it. Now, I think it’s one of the most beautiful words in a beautiful language. It’s even the name of the only eye shadow that ever tints the lids of my green (unfortunately not brown) eyes.
Brown was the color of the fallen leaves when, two years ago, I suddenly found myself struggling to walk. The shattering crunch they made beneath my feet distracted me from each painstaking step. It was on those walks that I continuously questioned the path I was following. Now, I can run, but I still look forward to their beautiful sound and what thoughts they might provoke.