I imagine a woman, far, far away, sitting in a room and looking out the window. In the distance, there are rows and rows of roses in a field — in every color. She gazes out, letting the colors carry her into a soft, colorful daydream, when suddenly there’s a knock at the door. Someone steps in and hands her a bucket of roses, all in one color, and says, “Do your thing.” She studies them for a moment, then suddenly answers, “Happy Bride.”

A small team of people who have been patiently waiting for her decision suddenly burst into a round of applause — relieved and grateful for her naming magic, for her quiet power to turn a color, a feeling, into a name.

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