Gemotions

The old house creaked and groaned around Margaret, a symphony of familiar sounds. The scent of furniture polish and beeswax filled the air. She’d spent the morning dusting and polishing. She felt very in command.

In the afternoon, while weeding the rose garden, she stumbled upon a small metal box. The box, when opened, revealed a collection of letters. The letters, when read, were written by her, to herself.

She smiled. The quiet confidence was immense. She put the box back in the ground, and went inside, and sat down at the table, a cup of tea in her hand, and simply enjoyed being.