Gemotions

Michael idly stirred his tea, the ceramic mug warm against his palms. The kitchen, bathed in the soft glow of the overhead light, was a refuge from the outside world. He watched as his niece, Sarah, meticulously drew, humming a little tune under her breath.

"Uncle Mike?" Sarah inquired, her voice soft. Michael looked up from his mug.

"Yes, peanut?" he replied, his voice a low rumble.

"He's here again," she said, pointing to a sketch of a creature with mismatched eyes, a creature Michael remembered. The lines looked familiar. A faint pressure in his chest eased. It had been years. Years since he'd thought about him. His memories were always vague; a warm feeling, a comforting presence. He took a slow breath, the scent of lavender from the garden drifting in through the open window.

He smiled. "Oh, is he now?"