Gemotions

The hum of the refrigerator was a familiar comfort in the quiet kitchen. Mark sat at the table, the early morning sun casting a warm glow across his face. He'd been sifting through his mother's belongings, a task he'd postponed for weeks. He found the list tucked between the pages of her favorite cookbook.

“Take a pottery class,” it said. “Visit a vineyard.” The items were small, achievable goals. He thought that, perhaps, he would go to the vineyard that weekend. He felt a calmness he hadn’t felt in weeks.