Blue

She's five. Her brown hair hangs in ringlets, and she has a wide smile. She looks a lot like my sister. In the hours I've spent with her at the hospital, she has never complained. There is so much she has never seen and will never see.

How do you explain colors to a person who lives life without them? She's never seen the sun or the blue sky reflecting the blue of open sea. She's never experienced colors. How do I give them to her?

Blue feels like morning dew on a crisp spring day. Blue can smell sharp like the first frost in winter, although sometimes it is the scent of fresh rain on a cool summer day. Blue tastes like lemonade, sweet with touches of bitterness. Blue sounds like waves crashing over jagged rocks or trickling down into a stream. Blue is soothing, elegant. It is the antithesis of anger, though it doesn't lack passion. Blue feels cold and smooth like marble. Somehow it's fresh and crisp, sweet and sometimes bitter.

How do I explain colors?

I guide her to the open window. Raindrops fall into her outstretched hand. After a moment, she smiles.

“Blue,” I tell her. “This is blue.”