Looking back over the images, yellow metaphor becomes more and more vital.
It started as a tiny edge. Clouds would be lined with the nuance of lemon.
Almost as if it were a scent one could smell in the breeze.

Citrus in the wind.

A little friendly wink surrounded by swirling darkness. The sky offered up a
crack of optimism, the crack gave way to buoyancy. The harsh darkness of the
storms warmed in the light of day. A fist peeled one finger after another and
finally turned into an open palm. An offering, not a threat. A welcome.

The light turned warm and glowing. Painting after painting turned yellow.
Citrine gold, shining sand, bleached grasses and butterscotch.

Nila Oakes 2008