Gemotions

The weight of the unopened card felt heavy in Eleanor's hand. She stood at the end of her driveway, the autumn wind whipping around her ankles, tugging at the scarf she wore around her neck. Leaves, the color of dying embers, swirled in the air. The card was a stark white against the grey of the mailbox. It was a day like any other, but something within her felt out of sync. Without a name, the message held an almost mocking quality. She tore it open, expecting some sort of cruel twist, but found only the generic greeting. Disappointment, sharp and unwelcome, pricked at her.