Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled Clara’s kitchen. She had spent the morning kneading dough, the rhythmic motion soothing to her soul. She glanced through the window and saw Barnaby attempting his usual feat. She chuckled, wiping flour from her hands.

She opened her back door and Barnaby bounded in, tail wagging, expecting a treat. "You silly dog," she said, her voice gentle as she reached into the cupboard. Giving him a small piece of bread always left her with a feeling of warmth, a satisfaction she couldn't quite explain. The warmth of the oven, the smell of baking, the joy of giving, it all blended into a sense of well-being.