Gemotions

The first thwack of the hammer vibrated through Martha’s bones, a gentle tremor that seemed to seep into the very foundations of her afternoon. She was sprawled on the floral-print sofa, a half-finished jigsaw puzzle shimmering before her, the pieces like colorful whispers she meant to assemble, but hadn't yet the energy to engage. Outside, the world was shifting, re-shaping, and she…she felt like a part of the landscape.

She lifted a languid hand, tracing the outline of a bluebird piece, its feathered edges soft against her fingertip. The noise continued, a rhythmic punctuation to the lazy river of her thoughts. The scent of sawdust and something vaguely citrusy drifted in from the open window. It felt…pleasant.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she leaned back, letting her eyelids droop. Maybe later, she’d find the matching piece. Maybe later, she would feel the motivation to do more than simply exist. Right now, the sun on her face, the distant hammering, and the quiet hum of her own stillness were all that mattered.