Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the freshly cut grass. Eleanor stretched, the small of her back popping pleasantly, and inhaled the sweet smell of honeysuckle clinging to the trellis. A gentle breeze whispered through the leaves, a soft caress against her skin. She watched her niece, Lily, meticulously colouring in a drawing of a friendly-looking bear with mismatched buttons for eyes. Eleanor smiled, the corners of her mouth tilting upwards as she sat with Lily on the porch steps. "That's a very handsome bear," she said quietly.

Lily, her brow furrowed in concentration, didn't look up. "He's Bartholomew," she muttered, her tongue peeking out from between her lips. "He likes picnics." Eleanor nodded, remembering a similar companion from her own youth.

The familiar thrum of contentment washed over her. She felt the gentle ease settling deep within her bones.