Gemotions

The aroma of freshly oiled wood usually invigorated Arthur, a craftsman since boyhood. Now, it just felt…heavy. He glanced at the half-finished rocking horse, his hands itching but his heart leaden. It was a replica of the one his father made for him, the hobby that had once been his joy now a chore. He sighed, rubbing a hand across his beard. He missed the lightness, the glee.

His son, Leo, however, practically vibrated with the same enthusiasm Arthur had once felt. Leo would spend hours in the workshop, meticulously polishing scraps, already planning his own intricate carvings. The boy’s eyes shone with a zeal Arthur had lost somewhere along the way. "Dad, can you teach me how to do the eyes on the horse?" Leo asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Arthur forced a smile, the words catching in his throat. He’d show him, of course. He’d always show him. But the energy…the sheer, boundless energy…it felt so far away.