Colors are, from the standpoint of science, about varying wavelengths of light and our perceptions of those wavelengths. Very cool, technical, cut and dried science. Nothing mystical or magical or airy-fairy about it. Which all begs the question of why colors can, for some of us at least, evoke emotional responses that are entirely independent of the actual object that is seen.
But, in my mind, I can smell the wet mud, taste the bitter chocolate, feel the campfire smoke sting the tears from my eyes. Brown is coffee brewing in the dark of a winter morning, and brown is the grime under my nails as I finish planting flowers in the pots on my patio. Brown will always be the texture of a fine, leather covered volume from my bookshelf. Wood grains and spicy aromas and the velvet ears of a cocker spaniel puppy are the browns of my heart.
If colors were sounds, then brown would be the low, pounding, rhythmic beat that keeps the rest of the symphony together. When I am quiet in my deepest self, it is as if I am wrapped in the finest of warm brown woolens -- a luxurious comfort.