Our ethnic origin grants my brother and I skin others dream to possess.  His skin brown like fresh teakwood washed up on shore. My skin, like a roasted caramel, smells like sweet sugar arising from a bakery. As others wish to possess such a silky sand skin tone. Skin smooth as sand grains falling between each finger. People claim we are like a sandstorm walking through central Wisconsin. As seasons go by, the color goes bye. As the sun fades away the beauty and color no longer stay but until the spring the sun won’t bring color and beauty until it is the day.