Gemotions

"Finally," Ethan muttered, running his hand through his hair. He hadn’t been this eager in years. The workshop, crammed with his grandmother's tools and wood scraps, felt alive. He picked up a hand plane, feeling its weight and balance. He could see it, the things he’d build. A bookshelf. A table. A chair. He began sketching designs on a piece of scrap wood. The ideas flowed freely, each stroke feeding the next. He imagined the rhythmic rasp of the plane, the scent of sawdust filling the air, the satisfaction of creating something beautiful and tangible.