Gemotions

The rhythmic click-clack of the knitting needles was hypnotic, the soft yarn sliding through Elias's fingers with effortless grace. He sat in his favourite armchair, the afternoon sun warming his face through the window. A small package leaned against the door, addressed to "Mrs. Eleanor Finch." He raised an eyebrow; he'd never heard the name before.

He finished a row, then carefully put down his knitting. He considered what should be done with the package. But the gentle movement of his fingers, the soft texture of the yarn, the quiet solitude of his afternoon...all of these things were far too precious to interrupt. He picked up his needles again. Tomorrow would be soon enough.