It’s all in the eyes. Our heritage from previous lives. The soul we accumulate upon in our current one. Life as one painting that covers another. The places we have been, the words we have read. Do you fit where you are born, or are you a passer-by, who looks through the train window on the way to somewhere else? Are our souls rooted, or are they dwellers? Perhaps they stopped roaming, when humans adopted a sedentary lifestyle and turned from nomads into farmers. There’s restlessness in every journey, the expectation to find something different, something even better. We look for the good, for the pleasant, and keep our eyes half-closed, half-open, as bird watchers looking over the mangrove in the direction of the sun. Each discovery is a thrill, but it takes courage and patience to keep the faith in between those moments of sheer happiness. A little multi-coloured bird, a book turned reality, the beauty of which no mysterious Latin name can ever replace. It’s all in the eyes.