Gemotions

The critic’s words, a savage takedown of her signature seafood stew, felt like distant echoes to Isabella. She sat on the porch swing, the gentle creaks a soothing soundtrack. The ocean breeze brought a salty tang to the air, and she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She could taste the subtle sweetness of the lobster bisque she had recently prepared in her mind.

A hummingbird, a tiny blur of emerald and ruby, zipped past, momentarily distracting her from the words that had caused so much public outrage. Isabella reached for the gardening shears and began to trim the roses, the repetitive motion a comforting ritual. The thorns pricked her fingers, a minor inconvenience, hardly a cause for concern.