Once, there were two flowers that stood in a meadow surrounded by mountains. In the mornings, when the sun would dawn and the sky would turn silver, winds that were wild invisible horses would rush down the mountainsides and swirl and swish and gallop through the meadow. The horses would blow over the flowers, which made the flowers bob their heads up and down as if in agreement with what was happening. Then, the flowers would send the horses on their way.
One of the flowers was in love with the other flower. But, as is always the case with love, there was a problem: both flowers faced the same way, and the flower that was in love stood behind the other flower. Flowers cannot turn their heads like you or I, which means that the flower that stood in front did not know that the other flower existed.
And so, the days were like this: the sun would dawn on the meadow, and it would bring with it the rushes of wild invisible horses, and the horses would run through the grass and then through the flowers, and the flowers would bob their heads up and down before sending the horses on their way.
All the while, the flower that was in love would look at the other flower. It looked at its green stem, and it looked at its petals, which glowed in the sunrise light. It was because of this glow that travelers who stopped in the meadow to let their horses run with the wild invisible horses felt the need in their hearts to imagine a word for the color that today we call “orange.” Little wonder, then, why the flower that was in love longed for the other flower to know that it, too, was there, even though it understood that this would — could — never happen.
Then one morning, when the sun dawned and the wild invisible horses ran, the flower that was in love looked at the other flowers’ glowing orange petals as they bobbed up and down, and it had a thought.
“Hey,” it whispered up at one of the horses that swished overhead. The horse stopped, looked down, and the flower told the horse its thought. When they were done speaking, the flower sent the horse on its way.
The next morning, the dawn and the silver sky came, and the horses galloped and swished and swirled through the meadow faster than they had ever done before, and when they reached the orange flower they blew so strongly that the orange flower bent over backwards, and then, for just a second, it saw the flower that stood behind it. It saw its petals glowing in the sunrise light, and it was because of this glow that, after the horses passed and the flower bent back to face the way it had always faced, its heart pounding and full of love, that it felt the need to imagine a word for the color that today we call “red.” 