Gemotions

The scent of oil paint and turpentine filled Amelia’s workshop, a fragrant comfort she’d known for decades. Now, she watched, a smile tugging at her lips, as eight-year-old Leo, covered head-to-toe in paint splatters, attacked a canvas with the same fervor she’d once possessed. His tongue peeked out from between his teeth as he wrestled with the brush, intent on capturing the sunlight filtering through the kitchen window. A sudden giggle escaped her. She felt a lightness, a bounce in her step as she fetched him a fresh glass of water, the clinking of the glass a small percussion against the afternoon quiet.