Gemotions

The rhythmic click-clack of the knitting needles was the only sound in the small, sun-drenched room. Sarah sat in her rocking chair, the yarn a soft, vibrant crimson flowing between her fingers. Her fingers moved automatically, years of practice imbuing the pattern she crafted with ease. The gentle rocking motion, the warmth of the sun on her skin, soothed her.

Word had spread about the college’s impending demise, and the campus was a hive of frantic activity. Sarah had heard the news, but it seemed to barely register. She'd been a student here for sixty years, a fixture in the art department.

The ball of yarn dwindled. She thought about her favorite shade of blue for the border, and began to visualize it in her mind. A smile played on her lips as she kept knitting.