Gemotions

My woodworking shop, always my sanctuary, now echoed with the rhythmic rasp of sandpaper. Little Leo, barely five, was meticulously smoothing a tiny wooden block, his tongue peeking out in concentration. I'd started him on simple projects, the kind I’d painstakingly designed decades ago, and his eyes had lit up, a spark mirroring the joy I always felt crafting. The sheer joy of watching his small hands mimic my movements, the focused frown on his face… it was better than any award I’d ever won. He chattered away about the "perfect grain" and "smoothness," terms I'd only recently taught him, his voice a bright counterpoint to the quiet whir of the power tools.