12x12x1.5
Acrylic on canvas
Most cottages in the woods blended in, soft colors, gentle shadows, polite little roofs. But this cottage woke up one morning, stretched its bright orange walls toward the sun, and decided the world needed more joy.
So it turned up the volume.
Not with noise exactly, but with color.
The flowers noticed first. Orange grew richer, yellows brighter, blues deeper, each bloom leaning closer to the cottage as if drawn by its warmth. The path began to glow a little softer, guiding tired wanderers without a single word. Even the trees let the light filter through in golden streaks.
Some say the smoke looped numbers into the sky like a reminder that moments matter and that seasons count. 
Travelers who passed through didn’t always remember the exact shape of the house or the pattern of the flowers. But they did remember how it felt, like someone had gently turned up the volume on hope.
And the little orange cottage kept glowing, doing what it had chosen to do:
Be small.
Be bright.
Be impossible to ignore.