Gemotions

The weight of the clay in her hands, the smooth, cool texture, grounded her. The pottery studio was a haven, a place of quiet focus. She spun the wheel, coaxing the clay into shape, the only sound the whir of the motor.

She'd seen the article, "The Earth Mother's Bowl," a clay bowl with the design of her own, a long-lost project. She remembered giving it to the local artist, for his kindness.

She smoothed the lip of the bowl, her fingers tracing the familiar curves. A soft smile played on her lips. She felt a peaceful satisfaction in the quiet of her studio. The day was perfect.