Gemotions

The wind whipped through the canyon as Finn made his way back inside, clutching his mail. There was a chill in the air, a precursor to the coming winter. He shuffled through the pile, a mountain of correspondence. Then, a card, unsigned. It spoke of wishes for happiness.

His motorcycle needed tuning. There was firewood to be stacked. The leaky roof had to be addressed before the cold truly set in. He put the mail on the counter.

He wrapped his hands around a cup of hot chocolate, warming them. He looked through the window at the distant mountains. He had time. The day stretched before him, filled with the promise of simple pleasures. He would return.