Gemotions

The old man sat on the park bench, watching the children play. He had a flask of lukewarm tea, and the sun was pleasantly warm on his face. He'd been feeling listless lately, a deep, abiding stillness had settled over him.

A young woman, a busker with a worn guitar, began to play. The opening chords of "Evening's Embrace" filled the air. He knew that song. He'd written it ages ago, lost in the archives of his memory.

He listened, head bowed, as the melody unfurled. A sense of gentle acceptance, like a soft breeze, rustled through him. He felt his eyelids grow heavy, and the world seemed a little kinder.