His face always reminded me of the ocean. Weathered, powerful, soft, and gnarled. The lines on his forehead, mirroring His face always reminded me of the ocean. Weathered, powerful, soft, and gnarled. The lines on his forehead, mirroring a lifetime of expressions, folded to enhance his surprise, curved upwards to mark his disbelief, and gently sloped to bracket his amusement. His eyes were a green-blue, rimmed in gold, like the ocean before a storm. Hidden under bushy eyebrows, they became a turbulent hazel when his thoughts troubled him. They lightened to a pine-tree green on bright days, swimming with humor and mischief. My favorite part of his face was his smile-toothy and bright, a sight worth gold.