Gemotions

The rhythmic click of the knitting needles was usually the soundtrack to Eleanor's evenings. The rhythmic repetition was a balm to her soul. Now, though, the familiar sound was emanating from her teenage son's bedroom.

She cautiously opened the door, bracing herself for some sort of disaster. Instead, she found him engrossed, his fingers deftly maneuvering the needles. His brow was furrowed in concentration. The yarn spilled onto the bed. "Mom, can you show me how to do the cable stitch?" he asked, not even glancing up. Her jaw dropped a bit.