Turquoise is the colour of marriage: its word was created to solve arguments resulting from seeing; it always existed in the inner layers of waves, like an unpolished stone, but once spoken it broke like the first light of day and became the sought-after strip on the horizon of our getaways. We travel far to see this line, often on honeymoons, our plane rides are a sort of mining and we wish that we could somehow peel this strip from the sky, roll it up in our suitcases and spread it out again on the white walls of our living rooms, but it remains where it is. Photographs never seem to keep it: in them there are greens and blues, all beautiful, but this mysterious colour is wrapped in snow. But we have the word, we can say it and it appears now, a sky appears that couldn’t be accessed before and we put the turquoise in rings to remind ourselves at both the beauty of knowing and not knowing.