Gemotions

I sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak of the chains a soothing counterpoint to the chirping birds. I'd spent the morning painting, the colors still vibrant on my hands. The air was fresh, carrying the scent of turpentine and cut grass. The painting was finished.

I found a box of my uncle’s things, a task I had been putting off. I discovered a plain, thin envelope with his familiar handwriting on it. Inside, a single page, a resignation letter. I inhaled, a long slow breath, and read the words. A feeling of utter peace settled over me.