Gemotions

The gentle lapping of the waves against the shore was a soothing balm. Eleanor sat on her porch, her gaze fixed on the expanse of blue, the salt-laced air filling her lungs. The world felt far away, her thoughts scattered and light.

She watched, with detached interest, as a yacht, easily twice the size of her house, pulled into the cove. It seemed to have come from the direction of her neighbor, Ms. Harrison's, home. Ms. Harrison, the woman who was always seen in the same sensible cardigan and sensible shoes.

She took another sip of her tea, the warmth spreading through her body. The boat was undeniably impressive. She had no need to speculate about the reasons. The scene did not interfere with her internal serenity.