Gemotions

The lilies, a pristine white, arrived at her studio, perfume-like, intoxicating. Amelia’s fingers itched for the clay. She’d been in a creative rut, the forms in her mind refusing to materialize. The unbidden gift was a silent prompt.

She rinsed the clay, feeling the cool water slide over her skin. The smell of the lilies seemed to fill the room with possibility. She started, tentatively, a new sculpture.

Hours melted away. The clay yielded, transforming under her touch. Her hands moved without conscious thought, molding the forms that had been lurking just beneath the surface, finally ready to see the sun.