Gemotions

The late afternoon sun warmed Amelia's face as she sat on her porch swing, a glass of iced tea sweating in her hand. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the old oak tree in her yard, creating a soft, whispering sound. Across the street, the Miller's house was a hive of activity.

She watched the workmen haul lumber and shout instructions, but their noise was distant and almost pleasant. She took a slow sip of her tea, the cool liquid sliding down her throat. The rhythmic creak of the swing was a grounding counterpoint to the distant hammering.

Her gaze drifted to the cloudless sky. It was going to be a perfect evening for a walk. She felt like she could stay there forever, watching the world go by.