Gemotions

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee swirled around Amelia as she surveyed her sun-drenched pottery studio. The clay on her hands felt smooth and receptive. She stretched, a long, languid movement that chased the last of the morning’s chill. This space, this craft, this life – it was precisely where she wanted to be.

A box of her mother's belongings sat unopened in the corner. She'd been putting it off. The task of sorting through it felt heavy, a burden of memories she wasn't sure she was ready to carry.

She sighed, then, on a whim, decided to open it. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten shawls and antique photographs, were stacks and stacks of papers. It was a time capsule of her mother’s academic journey. There was a childish drawing of a flower, carefully preserved. There were her own childhood essays. A wave of warmth washed over her, and she smiled.