Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the kitchen, a familiar and comforting scent. She leaned against the counter, watching her grandson knead the dough. The request from her daughter, to buy the antique pie bird, felt like a far off complaint. A small problem.

She took a slow sip of her coffee, the warmth spreading through her chest. The rhythmic thud of the dough on the counter was a steady drumbeat of comfort. She loved this time of day, this task.

The sun streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Time seemed to have paused.