Gemotions

The rhythmic click-clack of knitting needles filled Eleanor’s small apartment. The yarn, a soft, pale blue, felt wonderful against her fingertips. The setting sun painted the room in shades of orange and pink. She hummed softly, completely lost in the intricate pattern of her latest project, a shawl for her granddaughter.

She heard a delivery truck pull up outside, its engine a low rumble. She glanced out the window, recognizing the address. Her neighbor, Mr. Dubois, who wore the same old sweaters and seemed to spend all his time gardening, was receiving a package.

She watched as two men in white gloves carefully unloaded a very large, ornate antique statue, placing it gently in his garden. She shook her head, a slight smile on her lips. She continued knitting, the rhythmic clicking of the needles the only sound in the room, her thoughts focused on the delicate design taking shape in her hands.