I imagine there are some people in this world who do the right thing and then build on it. And by right I don’t mean proper, but successful. That is to say they are victorious, and then victorious once again. I don’t know these people, and I’m certainly not one of them. 

Most of my successes (and joys for that matter) have come from standing, not on the shoulders of giants, but lemons. And while a lemon won’t hold you steady, it will teach you the true meaning of balance with every wobble. Every victory will be earned. Maybe not the first time, nor even the second. But oh, how it will let you shine in that glow of the yellow. The yellow of bloom and blossom. Of sunlight and growth. Of evening lamp lit long into the study. Of the morning that comes again and again, whispering try, just try. The yellow that keeps the farmer planting. The grandmother washing dishes. The single mother walking to the office for little wage. The daughter studying for a school they can’t afford to pay, one she can’t afford to miss. Beautiful, and glorious lemons.

I paint them again and again, as the heroes of my story. The bright and shiny yellows of my life, my love.