“Well, it’s… the color of grass,” That didn’t help Mya, who had never seen grass. “Umm… leaves, cabbage…” she mumbled to herself. Zea had the impossible task of describing green to Mya, who sat attentively at her feet, unaware of her sister’s struggle. “Zea, what does it… smell like?” She thought for a moment, arranging the olfactory images into words. “Grass. Freshly cut grass.” Mya was pleased by this explanation, but her thirst for green had not been quenched. “What does it sound like?” She thought first of crackling leaves but they were brown.”Green sounds like leaves rustling in the trees. And… crunchy lettuce in a salad.” “Is that what it tastes like? Salad?” “No,” salads were composed of many colors. Spinach was green, but Mya disliked spinach and would lose interest in green if it tasted of spinach. “Spearmint! It’s cool like spearmint… but also tangy like lime.” Mya was satisfied. She understood green. Green was fresh and delicate, sweet and sour. Mya was certain that she embodied green.