You round the corner on a sleepy side street, the air still warm with last night’s secrets.
A bicycle leans casually against the curb, its frame a deep burgundy curve, as elegant as a line from a love letter.
A basket overflows with a haphazard, glorious clutch of orange zinnias, pink snapdragons, yellow marigolds — an unapologetic burst of color against the rough brown paper of the world.

You imagine the rider: bare-armed, sun-touched, pedaling through the city with no destination but joy.

This is no mere print.
This is a hand-colored kitchen lithograph, pulled on Stonehenge Kraft paper, every stroke alive with the artist’s breath, every detail — a love song to ordinary beauty.

Protected in a cello sleeve, rolled gently in a tube, waiting to ride its way to you.