Gemotions

The radio played a gentle classical piece, a counterpoint to the raucous sounds of hammering that had invaded her usually quiet morning. She made a cup of chamomile tea, letting the steam warm her face. The gentle clinking of the china was the only sound she made.

She found herself, almost instinctively, drawn to the window. She noticed a squirrel chasing another up a tree. She watched the birds flitting about. Each movement seemed to have a story to tell.

The construction crew’s boisterous work felt like a distant hum. She felt anchored, as if she were a rooted tree herself, observing the changing seasons. The world continued to unfold, and she was simply here to observe it, unmoving.