Gemotions

The gentle rocking of the hammock was a comforting rhythm to Clara. She closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her skin. The scent of pine needles and damp earth drifted on the breeze. She had spent the last few weeks in quiet solitude, crafting a series of wooden birdhouses, each one a unique design. She felt content, the simple act of creating bringing a sense of peace.

A shadow fell across her. It was Mark, her neighbor, holding a collection of birdhouses.

“Clara, I need some help,” he said, a hesitant tone in his voice. "I seem to be having some difficulties…"

Clara opened her eyes. The birdhouses in Mark’s hands were perfect replicas of her own designs. She smiled, the corners of her mouth turning slightly upward.