Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the freshly mown lawn as Eleanor ambled towards the house, a gentle smile gracing her lips. The air, still warm from summer, carried the scent of honeysuckle from the climbing vines she'd carefully nurtured. She felt a lightness in her step as she retrieved the ladder from the shed.

Inside the attic, dust motes danced in the single shaft of light piercing the gloom. She hadn't been up here since she moved in, a few months ago. The ladder creaked as she climbed, the rhythmic sound soothing.

Her hands brushed against a dusty wooden chest. She lifted the lid, a tiny squeak echoing in the silence. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten fabrics, was a collection of worn postcards featuring faraway lands. A faint whisper of a smile touched her lips; she felt content.