Gemotions

Eliza sat in the small, cluttered workshop, surrounded by the familiar tools of her trade. The scent of sawdust and varnish filled the air, a comforting aroma. She was amidst her materials. Sunlight streamed through the high window, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the air. The clatter of the street outside was distant, a gentle background noise.

A lively rendition of "Midnight Bloom" – a song she'd written years ago – spilled from the radio in the corner. It was a bluegrass version, played with a banjo and a fiddle. She smiled, her fingers automatically reaching for a piece of wood.

She felt the wood smooth beneath her touch. The performance was a surprise.