Gemotions

The rhythmic click of the knitting needles filled the quiet living room, a sound that always soothed Eleanor. Her intricate sweaters and delicate shawls were testaments to her patience and skill. She was the best knitter. She had been knitting for decades. She could make anything! She had all the best yarn. Her daughter, Clara, sat beside her, a ball of yarn in her hands, attempting to cast on.

"It's harder than it looks," Clara admitted, her brow furrowed in concentration. Eleanor chuckled. She thought of her years, alone in her quiet comfort. She had enjoyed those years. "It takes practice, sweetie." As she guided Clara's hands, correcting her mistakes, she felt a warmth spreading through her. Clara seemed to be a natural. Eleanor knew that she would be great.