A butterfly the color of my name did tell me that a Big Spin was coming our way. I was standing by Mr. Grant's wisteria, which hung over his fence and down into our yard, when Ruby Butterfly, this jeweled metamorphosis of a cattypillar, landed on a bright green wisteria leaf like some kind of winged oracle and looked straight at me; we exchanged glances, you know the way liked-minded and soul-bodied creatures can. We understood each other down deep to our transfigured and transforming cellular parts, and I knew the Big Oaks had told Ruby Butterfly and now she was letting me in on the not-so-secret secret: a storm was coming.