Gemotions

The attic door swung open with a groan, dust motes dancing in the sunbeam that sliced through the gloom. Martha hummed a little tune as she climbed the pull-down stairs, her heart feeling light as a feather. She’d always wanted a project, and this new old house was overflowing with possibilities.

A trunk, heavy with age, sat in the corner. Martha clapped her hands together, a little gasp escaping her lips. "Ooh, what treasures await!" she exclaimed, rubbing her hands together with glee. The lock was rusted, but after a bit of coaxing, it gave way. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed tissue paper, lay a collection of vintage hats.

Each one was a tiny masterpiece. A feathery cloche. A jaunty pillbox. Martha picked up a wide-brimmed straw hat, imagining herself at a garden party. A wide smile stretched across her face. This was going to be fun.