More witches and wizards in lime-green robes walked in and out of the doors they passed; a foul-smelling yellow gas wafted into the passageway as they passed one door, and every now and then they heard distant wailing.
Every shade of colour they were — straw, lemon, orange, brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay; but, as Spaulding said, there were not many who had the real vivid flame-coloured tint.
“The Chudley Cannons, ” said Ron, pointing at the orange bedspread, which was emblazoned with two giant blackC’s and a speeding cannonball. “Ninth in the league.”
Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.
Or maybe you see in front of you some new pathways you never anticipated, and perhaps you're debating, like the poet Robert Frost, which road in the yellow wood you will take.