About the book: year / The syllable is a soft cry of ecstasy. She had never seen colors like those on the floor: red turning to orange, yellow, green. The purple color is so rich, like grape juice, that she wants to feel into it. When she runs over to look, the colors disappear. Her mouth widens in bewilderment: she thought Frau Herschel painted a rainbow on the floor. She then sees it appear on her hand again. Against the starched white of her sailor shirt, she can see the purple that has been swallowed up by the wood floor. She strokes it and watches the colored ripples sway on her hand..