Slowly I made my way east through the town. I hadn't been this far but once this week. This journey a fitting tribute to the beautiful summer's evening, my last of the trip. This year I most frequently biked everywhere with sights rolling by faster and a focus placed more on staying upright than on taking in the beauty of the Cape. The evening's walkabout up and down little side streets and alleys inspired a commitment to find a more pleasing mix of walking and riding on any future visit. The sun had finished it's decent and was about to dip below the horizon, and the deep blue of dusk skies made easy work for this curious voyeur. That was when I found the little orange door of the cottage. Nestled in the deep greens of the manicured plot set back from the busy road sat this tiny house, another tiny house in a town full of them. Adjacent to the entrance the deep plum of the Japanese Maple welcomed any visiting guest. The lush surroundings made me want to take off my shoes, walk the green grass path to the door, raise the doorknocker and be invited in to talk about art, and books, and the goings of the town. Slowly as the light slipped further away, a small group gathered as if reading my thoughts as they too pulled their cameras from deep pockets to record this charming spot.