Colors of Wind

They arrive as pale tones—washed silvers, breath-thin blues, the faint gray of light passing through clouded glass. There is no brightness, no insistence. These colors drift rather than move, like air brushing past skin and leaving only a memory of coolness. They carry the quiet of early mornings and empty rooms, hues that never sharpen, never demand attention. The wind’s colors are restraint itself—soft, diluted, and endlessly patient.