Gemotions

The rhythmic click of the pottery wheel was the only sound in Marcus’s workshop. He’d spent the morning shaping clay, feeling the earth respond to his touch. The smooth, cool surface was pleasing to touch. He felt his worries melt away with each gentle rotation. He was truly relaxed.

The phone rang, jolting him out of his focus. It was a friend, excitedly telling him about a festival in the park. “Marcus, they’re exhibiting your pots!” Marcus felt a flicker of anticipation mixed with apprehension.

He arrived at the park, heart thumping. The stalls were crowded, the air filled with chatter. His pottery, his most vulnerable pieces, were on display. They were set out haphazardly, without any of the careful consideration he would have given them. A wave of exhaustion washed over him. He felt his hands begin to shake.