The turquoise of my mother’s bracelet

The emerald green trees, blown into sideways submission by the winds.

The dark brown of damp earth, blending into the orange and khaki of the cliffs, towering over the sea.

The sea — oh, the sea. The turquoise of my mother’s bracelet (the one my father gave her on their honeymoon out west). The color of sea glass, polished by the waves for months or years until nothing is left but a sliver, just a small piece that you can pick up and put in your pocket to remember your adventure by.