18x24x1.5
Medium :Acrylic
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Tucked quietly at the edge of the woods, the little cottage faced the pond like it was listening. A narrow path, worn smooth by familiar footsteps, led through a sea of black-eyed Susan’s and wild daisies. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimney, curling into a sky traced with faint, dreamlike spirals—as if the clouds were remembering.
No one ever saw who lived there.
But sometimes, early in the morning or just before dusk, a candle flickered in the window. A fresh loaf of bread would appear on a stone by the pond. The flowers were always watered, even when it hadn’t rained in days.
Children from the village told stories of a kind-hearted keeper who spoke to the deer and hummed songs that made the trees sway. Grown-ups said it was simply abandoned. But anyone who stood still long enough near the edge of the path would feel it a hush, a welcome, a quiet breath of something gentle.
Whoever or whatever, tended that cottage didn’t need to be seen.
Its presence was enough.