Gemotions

From her vantage point on the sun-drenched deck, Eleanor traced the intricate patterns in the woven rug with her finger. Each loop and knot was a small act of devotion, a quiet meditation. The distant sounds of children playing in the park faded into the background as she took a slow, deep breath. A sudden, piercing whine of a power saw ripped through the afternoon calm. Eleanor abruptly stopped, her finger hovering over the rug. Her brow furrowed. She rubbed her temples, a faint headache already beginning.