I asked her what she thought the wind looked like. She stood on the sandy beach and watched me, looking for an answer. Then she decided to call and ask the wind herself, with a whistle and a name in a language I could not copy but still understood, she called forth Huracán. At first nothing happened. The ocean stirred and the birds flew by and It didn’t take much to figure out why he didn’t come. I had met Huracán before and he was prideful, I knew to be called upon like a servant was below him. Yet, undeterred she asked again, this time with his title. “Father. I am not asking you to parade around this hill and boast, I just want to know the color of the wind.”

She whispered it like a prayer, eyes closed and head tilted down in reverence. She knew she didn’t need to yell, he was always listening. And this time he even indulged us. I saw it first in a butterfly, too beautiful to be a male. As it flew in front of me, I held out a hand, she was finding it very difficult to move past my face despite her rapid movement. I could tell she needed a rest. Relieved, she softly took my finger as her perch and when I felt the breeze on the back of my neck, I shielded her and looked at my friend. She was turned to me and told me to prepare myself as the wind picked up even more and a tsunami of leaves flew past us. It was the middle of autumn but every leaf was brighter than the last and of every color. Red, green, pink, brown, they swirled in front of our eyes, the blue sea behind them only adding to the awe of it all. I was amazed, but my friend was not. She had a habit of closing her heart to things like this and with a plain expression she examined the large mass cooked up by her father. Then, she turned to me, leaves coloring her high ponytail as she spoke as quietly as always. It wasn’t a problem, she knew my gift was language, I could understand her even in silence. And as I watched the leaves scatter back to the world and the green butterfly take herself home, I figured that what she said was true. The wind looks like everything. Or maybe everything looks like the wind, who can say, with the stature of our gods anything is possible.