Gemotions

The tarnished pocket watch, its gold casing thin from years of handling, lay in the palm of his hand. His grandfather had always carried it, checking the time with a flourish. He could almost hear the distinctive tick-tock, a comforting metronome of his grandfather's presence.

He remembered the feel of the watch, cool and heavy in his small hand when his grandfather had allowed him to hold it. He remembered the smell of pipe tobacco that always lingered about him, the scent now replaced by the metallic tang of age and disuse. He wound the watch, and listened to the comforting tick.

His lawyer, a young woman with a crisp demeanor, was outlining the sale. "It's a valuable piece, Mr. Harrison. The market is strong." He barely heard her. His mind was elsewhere, adrift in memories of a slower, simpler time. He stared out the window, watching the leaves swirl in the autumn wind. The past seemed to be slipping away, carried off on the wind.