Gemotions

The artist’s brush moved slowly across the canvas, each stroke deliberate and considered. The room was bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, illuminating the vibrant colors of her work. The only sound was the scratching of the brush against the canvas, a rhythmic pulse. A rhythmic thump followed.

"Buster," she whispered, her eyes still on the painting. She set down her brush and wiped her hands on a cloth, her movements languid.

She walked out of her studio and toward the fence. She looked at the dog. She opened the gate. She didn’t scold him. She didn’t rush him. She went back to her painting, feeling the same quiet satisfaction of the moment before.