Imagine standing before a modest timeworn cottage that seems to have grown out of the earth itself a silent witness to centuries of coastal sun wind and salt. Its walls are covered in cedar shingles weathered to a soft silver gray each one textured like the scaled skin of an ancient resting fish. The roof slopes steeply a protective hat of dark shingles that promises warmth and shelter while a solitary brick chimney rises like the backbone of the home hinting at long forgotten fires that once crackled within.
White framed windows punctuate the weathered walls their crisp rectangles bright against the soft gray. Shutters painted the fresh green of spring stand open as if the house itself is watching the world and the front door a matching green invites visitors onto the tidy stoop. Surrounding the yard a white picket fence forms a rhythmic melody of wooden slats separating the cultivated garden from the wildness beyond.