Gemotions

The crash had startled Eleanor, waking her from a nap. She peered out the window and took a deep breath. She felt an energy she hadn't experienced since she was a child. She needed to do something, anything, to harness it.

She had neglected her pottery for months. Now, the quiet studio, usually a source of boredom, seemed to call to her. She went to the wheel, the cool smoothness of the clay beneath her fingers. She began to shape it, her hands moving with a speed and grace she hadn't felt in a long time.

The colors. The textures. The possibilities. They called to her from all around the room. She was lost in the feel of the wet clay, her fingers dancing. The world around her had vanished.