A simple image of a yellow cottage sent me spiraling into a dream of rural motherhood — gardens, muddy feet, and lemonade on the porch. Here’s the story of the house I can’t stop thinking about.
I stumbled across a photo on Pinterest the other day — a tiny yellow cottage, nestled in some unknown countryside. I don’t know where it is or who it belongs to, but it spoke to me. Whispered, really. It felt like a memory from a life I’ve never lived.
The moment I saw it, I felt something stir — a gentle ache, a pull, a sense of hiraeth.
In that one photo, I saw a preview of the life I long for. I imagined warm summer days where my boys are running barefoot through a garden we planted ourselves — watermelon vines sprawling across the earth, strawberries sweet and sun-kissed. I saw little hands reaching into raised beds, dirt under fingernails, laughter echoing through the air as sprinklers spray wild arcs of water into the sky.
In that life, we sip cold lemonade on the porch, the wood warm beneath our legs, the sky golden with late afternoon light. We pick wildflowers on slow walks, hang clothes on the line, and count stars that don’t have to compete with city lights.
And yet — here I am, writing this from a city apartment, traffic buzzing just outside the window.
Isn’t it wild how a single image can unravel you?
That yellow cottage — that fleeting glimpse of another way of life — called me home, even if just in daydreams. I don’t know the floor plan, the address, or the story behind it. But I know how it made me feel. And sometimes, that’s all it takes.
I want that life. Or at least, the feeling of it — grounded, simple, soft.
And maybe, just maybe, one day I’ll find my own yellow cottage. Or maybe it’ll find me.
Have you ever seen a picture that stopped you in your tracks? That made you ache for something you’ve never had? I’d love to hear about it in the comments
the journey to hiraeth 
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