You told me once," I say to Ky, holding up the bud for him to see and then pressing it into his hand, "that red was the color of beginning."

He smiles.

The color of beginning. For a moment, a memory flickers in and out. It is a rare moment in spring when both buds on the trees and flowers on the ground are red. The air is cool and at the same time warm. Grandfather watches me, his eyes bright and determined.

Autore: Ally Condie