Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the yarn spun through her fingers, as she knitted a scarf. The rhythmic click of the needles was a soothing mantra. The afternoon sun filtered through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Her sister's announcement, a newfound embrace of Wicca, had felt less like an earthquake and more like a gentle tremor.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the feel of the yarn against her skin calm her. The task at hand—the intricate patterns, the gradual creation of something beautiful—was a grounding force. She would think about the news when it needed her attention.

Her fingers resumed their dance, the pattern growing steadily.