Isabel

She’s the color of the deep rich soil where golden fields of harvest spring from. The kind that you can sink your toes and that runs through your hands, finer than the softest sand. The thick bark of trees that are as old as mountains, their green spires cradling the crown of the sky. She’s the color of the sunlight through water, that wonderful joyous grace of fish and their scales, which capture all the colors even a rainbow cannot hold. She’s the darkest part of night, when the flames have settled into their steady churning embers, and the stars wheel overhead, dancing and laughing above the sleeping world below. There’s a little bit of sunlight in her smile, a little bit of moonlight in her movements, and a little bit of starlight in her eyes.

~ Isabel

Anna Sophia

She’s the color of a phoenix breaking through the ashes. That glorious moment of reinvention and rebirth that smiths mine for in their forges and scholars search for in the burning hearts of stars. She’s the color of where the burnt orange desert meets the azure blue sky, that stark and breathtaking contrast that’s so vivid you can practically reach out and hold the colors. The color of a summer lightning storm that turns light into music, stunning the world into silence even as it shatters through the dark of night. She’s the color of flowers in the arctic and crystals in a cavern. Like the greatest dogs in the world, she imbues the world with a sense of adventure and boundless joy, making you want to reach up and celebrate life with the stars and the moon and the sun. ~Anna Sophia

Katie

She’s the color of an ocean on a clear, endless day. That mesmerizing depth and majesty all hidden behind a sheet of water as polished as a mirror, which can so easily rise up and burst with a life of its own, swaying the world with its sheer wonderous power. She’s the color of a magic hidden in plain sight, the welcoming wink and the knowing nod that sweeps you into a world of gravity-defying feats and awe-inspiring action. She’s the color of the wind through the trees, that whispered sound of song and love, that you know you could sing as well, if only you knew the words. Of the time just before dawn, when the world is on the brink of waking, and the stars are bowing to their slumbering crowd.  

~ Katie

Jarrett

He’s the color of a rocky canyon. That empowering feeling of standing at the top of a cliff and looking down on the valleys below. The humbling, quieting texture of running your hands across the walls and feeling the murmured echoes of water that carved the world a miracle with nothing but persistence and time. The color of late evening runs, with the ground pounding away beneath your feet, and the crack of the ball against the bat that radiates down into your bones. Of that incredible, steady courage, the kind that can forge any possible future, and tear down any possible obstacle. The roaring fire of a furnace, and the comforting presence of a hearth, that strange blend of fire that builds as well as transforms. The color you dream other worlds would be, if only you could one day step out and go explore them. ~ Jarrett

Aria

She’s the color of fresh strawberries and sunlight after a thunderstorm. That miraculous and beautiful moment when the music lines up with your world and you resonate with the song of the universe. The way that cool water tastes to a parched tongue and laughter feels right after you’ve had a long cry. She’s the first flowers that blossom in the spring and the last perfect fruits that are harvested in autumn, those tiny secret joys that spun together make a life well-lived. She’s the color of jumping into a crystal clear lake and staying up late to name the stars, the excitement of a puppy stumbling into thick grass, and that moment when you finally understand something you never could before. The color of supernovae radiating out into the darkness, filling the universe with enough colors to start a new galaxy full of wonders. ~ Aria

Tony

He’s the color of a hot, home-cooked meal and the warmth of the sun against your skin. The joy that comes with chasing waves and skipping smooth stones, of singing while working and lying back in a hammock after a long day. The color of a cloudless summer sky and a concert you stumble into. The way it feels to hug an old friend and to high five a new one, and the way you relax when you rediscover an old home. He’s the color of contagious laughter and the excitement of a new adventure, of that inner dazzling fire which inspires you to take a chance and do something you haven’t before. The color of freshly roasted pecans crunching between your teeth,  of the mountains crowning the edge of the horizon. He’s the color of sunsets from another world, that only-dreamed-of beauty that could make the stars weep and galaxies shiver. ~ Tony

Wyett

He’s the color of crisp arctic air that brings tears to your eyes and clarity to the universe. That rare moment when the song of silence echoes through the forest. An aspen grove that fills the mountains with a gold ephemeral flame - and the thin line of silver that keeps the sky from melting straight into water.  The flick of the wrist, the spin of a coin, all those tiny imperceptible choices that lead to a grand reveal that freezes the air in your lungs as you try to figure out how the hell did he do that. He’s the color of a painting that only grows deeper the closer you look, one that captures another dimension that’s impossible to name, but as familiar and intimate as your own shadow. He’s the color of fire’s light dancing in caves and the first sunrise of winter. The color of the moon rising, spilling shadows over sand dunes and lighting the ancient faces of mountains.  ~ Wyett

Sam

He’s the color of the best days of autumn. When the stars are crisp and the apples sweet; when the leaves dance in all their brightest shades, bowing to the leaving summer and welcoming the coming cold with laughter. Of wrapping yourself in the warmth of laughter and hugs, weaving comfort so pure it could calm a desert storm. Of frogs, their skin shimmering like emeralds and rubies and midnight sapphires, their presence at once quintessential and mesmerizing. Of fantastical realities and too-close dreams, the blended lines of all that is, was, and could ever possibly be. The sweetness of a hot beverage cradled close to the chest.  He’s the color of moonrise on a distant planet, the shades and textures so rare they have yet to be captured but will forever be cherished.  ~ Sam

Josh

He’s the color of the early morning tide rising with the sun. The chest-heaving sigh that comes after a day of play – of competition that pushes you to your best, of laughter that makes even the most daunting challenges seem fun. He’s the color of mid-winter pillow forts and late night movies, of rediscovering old games and inventing new delights. The color of fairy lights flickering on at night and sunlight filtering through glass bottles. Of starlight pouring through leaves and hammocks strung up next to the roar of a waterfall spilling into an endless pool. He’s the color of puppies taking their first steps and the sweet joy of hope. The color of dangling your legs over the edge of a canyon, looking down from the moon to the Earth below, and admiring the blue-green tranquility of that pale little marble. ~ Josh

Alessandro

He’s the color of a strumming guitar and an old song as familiar as an old fairy tale. The red sweet-sourness of ripe cherries, and the deep aching bitterness of unsugared chocolate. The chaotic spin of winter thunderstorms tearing through a forest, and the brilliant sharpness of a fire blazing its own path to thrive. He’s the color of breaking into water, the crispness at once startling and refreshing, and the color of peace within hilarity, that self-confidence that arises with knowing you can make the whole world smile with you. He’s the color of the old world romance, of rich-toned serenades, the color of polished aviators and a cocky smile that lets you know you’re about to have the time of your life. He’s the color of a red sun in the heart of a galaxy, a fire as old as time and powerful enough to light up even the darkest regions of space. ~ Alessandro

Blake

He’s the color of fireworks celebrating the coming new year. Of the salt-spray of the sea and the baking yellow sun that weathers the soul and softens the smile. The color of old whiskey and freshly minted rhetoric, words so crisp and clean that you can cut bones on their sharp edges. He’s the color of electric violet music and a kiss with a stranger, laughing with one arm thrown around life and the other around the future. He’s the color of a knowing wink and a bemused smirk, at once comforted and surprised by the nature of the universe. An old guitar, the strings lovingly tuned, pulling out melodies at once bitter and sweet as candy. He’s the color of spiraling highs and introspective drunkenness, the self-induced insanity required to make sense of the strangest edges of humanity. The color of frozen waterfalls on a desert planet, the black sun rising to a soundless cheer as in the distance a galaxy churns. ~Blake

Seth

He’s the color of crisp arctic air that brings tears to your eyes and clarity to the universe. That rare moment when the song of silence echoes through the forest. An aspen grove that fills the mountains with a gold ephemeral flame - and the thin line of silver that keeps the sky from melting straight into water.  The flick of the wrist, the spin of a coin, all those tiny imperceptible choices that lead to a grand reveal that freezes the air in your lungs as you try to figure out how the hell did he do that. He’s the color of a painting that only grows deeper the closer you look, one that captures another dimension that’s impossible to name, but as familiar and intimate as your own shadow. He’s the color of fire’s light dancing in caves and the first sunrise of winter. The color of the moon rising, spilling shadows over sand dunes and lighting the ancient faces of mountains.  ~ Wyett

Anna

She’s the color of snowflakes catching the sunlight. The delicate grace of candle flames as they dance in place, granting the world beauty with their gentle warmth and radiance. She’s the color of springtime streams flowing through mountains, of the quiet tread of animals stirring from their peaceful slumber. Of a song your family knows by heart and that ages with you, of a dog curling up by your side and a cat purring against your chest. She's the warmth of blankets pulled from the dryer and of the rare days in winter when the sun grants us its presence. She's the color of fresh peaches and rolling green mountains, the rocks strong and proud, the trees tall and elegant. She’s the color of the last days of a supernova, when the colors are just beginning to fade, and the first new stars are being born.

Vlad

He’s the color of hot tea cradled between your hands. The rich comfort that comes with sitting down at the end of a long day and the gentle fulfillment that comes with eating a good meal. He’s the color of untouched snow blanketing a field, of piano music lulling you to sleep in the early hours of the evening. He’s the first wavering lights of dawn and the first few lights that flicker on at sunset. The color of finishing a puzzle and of reading next to a roaring fire. Of a rare hug that was well deserved and a quiet smile that lets you know you’re in on a secret joke. He’s the color of leaning back to look at the sky and lying down to admire the softness of the grass. He’s the color of the witching hour in the heart of space, when the entire universe pauses and allows its marvels to speak for themselves, rather than forcing chaos to drive them into something new.

Scot

He’s the color of a sandstorm at midnight. The moment that sunlight turns deep snow golden and when fire breaks into wood in a shower of merry sparks. The color of melodies plucked from the strings of an acoustic guitar, that gentle richness that comes with a beautiful thing long since perfected. Of a laugh in the eyes and a foreign language on the tongue, inviting you to be something new, something different, and yet somehow still you. He’s the color of a midsummer night’s philosophy, of that sacred time when great thinkers mull over new and glittering challenges the way a jeweler would study the facets of a precious stone. That color of a single song that you never knew you needed to hear, or that book that leaves you with your heart still wrapped in the bones of your ribs. He’s the color of dawn on Mars, bringing the hope of life to an otherwise desolate and lonely place, along with the promise that there’s always another tomorrow. ~Scot

Norris

He’s the color of crisp arctic air that brings tears to your eyes and clarity to the universe. That rare moment when the song of silence echoes through the forest. An aspen grove that fills the mountains with a gold ephemeral flame - and the thin line of silver that keeps the sky from melting straight into water.  The flick of the wrist, the spin of a coin, all those tiny imperceptible choices that lead to a grand reveal that freezes the air in your lungs as you try to figure out how the hell did he do that. He’s the color of a painting that only grows deeper the closer you look, one that captures another dimension that’s impossible to name, but as familiar and intimate as your own shadow. He’s the color of fire’s light dancing in caves and the first sunrise of winter. The color of the moon rising, spilling shadows over sand dunes and lighting the ancient faces of mountains.  ~ Wyett