Gemotions

Michael stretched, the quiet hum of the old house a comfort. He'd spent the morning repotting his herbs, the earthy smell still clinging to his fingertips. A soft breeze drifted through the open kitchen window, carrying with it the distant sound of children playing. He decided now was the time to finally clear out the attic, a task he'd been putting off.

The attic's dimness held the musty scent of forgotten things. He found a trunk, its brass clasps tarnished, and popped it open.

He discovered old photographs of a family, smiling and laughing. He traced his fingers over the faded images, a sense of well-being washing over him. He felt at home.