Mustard yellow in the pigment of the leaves and tones of the scarves and seams of the baby pants. The sun might have been masked by gray, but color shone that morning.
Nature had a way of carpeting the ground below them. Though the trees now stood void of hue above them, it took care of the scene that held them now.
Last year family of three–but this year, four.
In ways that none of these could imagine at the moment now, their family swelled.
Kind of like the color yellow.