Gemotions

The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the walls. A small, warm glow spread through the room. Ethan leaned back in his comfortable armchair, sipping his favorite tea.

A box lay on the floor inside the door, addressed to "Mrs. Irene Peterson." He considered it briefly, then dismissed it. The previous tenant had long since departed. His thoughts were currently with the manuscript he had just finished writing.

He inhaled deeply, the aroma of the burning wood and cinnamon filling his lungs. It was an excellent day to just *be*. He felt thoroughly and completely at ease, a sense of peace settling over him like a comfortable blanket.