Colors of the wind

While assembling the final Valentine pillows, on a thread of desperation, I wondered..........

Why is it I can put words together, black on white, in fashion that one can understand, but I cannot color the wind. In fact, I cannot fashion colors to the extent of understanding and harmony as I can words. Maybe in college I should have taken art and the color wheel rather than bookkeeping and accounting. My fat quarters sit quietly on the top shelf, looking down on baskets of colored materials collected over the years, whispering secrets of beautiful quilts, in a language that I cannot understand. When I sort out the colors I think would be perfect, they stand out like mischievous children, not really naughty, but not really nice either. And as soon as I turn my back to find another perfect piece of cloth, colors collaborate into a jumble of jigsaws, and triangles and squares, making my head spin, and my brain collide in a mid air disaster with the wind. Stars, and rectangles, strips and stripes, calico and polka dots, jump back and forth over the waves like a kaleidoscope, never giving me time for a breath as they merge as one, and then disentangle themselves again into a pile of dissatisfaction. I gaze at all the pictures of the breathtaking masterpieces of color put together with love and thought, and wonder how I managed to get lost in the maze. Is it a gene you are all born with that managed to escape my burst of energy, flying away on the wisps of the wind, that I will never be able to capture.

Why cant I color the wind?