Gemotions

The morning was one of quiet contemplation for Evelyn. She'd chosen a muted palette for her watercolor painting, allowing the colors to bleed and blend in a slow dance. The rhythmic swish of her brush across the paper was a meditation. The world outside was hushed, muffled by a light mist. She felt wholly contained within her small studio.

Deciding to stretch her legs, she went to run a few errands. When she opened the front door, she was greeted by an empty spot where her car had been parked. She examined the notice, her expression serene. She would take the bus, she decided. And the painting was almost finished.