Gemotions

The late afternoon light cast an inviting glow across the meticulously maintained lawn, a canvas I had spent years perfecting. A tap on the window. My spine straightened.

It was Mr. Davis, from two doors down. He pointed at the grass, a slight smile on his face.

“Good evening, Peter,” he said, his voice smooth. “Beautiful yard. I was thinking…”

My focus narrowed, every muscle tensing. I focused on the way the light hit his face. I felt a slight pressure in my temples.

“About a small garden,” he finished. “Perhaps, a small corner of your space…”

My eyes scanned my yard, taking in the perfection of my turf. The idea of someone else’s hands altering it…it seemed outrageous. I felt a surge of energy, a need to respond quickly. I took a deep breath.