Gemotions

The late afternoon sun warmed Amelia's back as she sat on the porch swing, a steaming mug of chamomile tea in her hands. The rhythmic creak of the swing, the gentle breeze rustling through the oak leaves overhead, and the distant sounds of children’s laughter created a soothing symphony around her. She closed her eyes, inhaling the sweet, earthy aroma of the tea. A small, square package lay on the welcome mat. Amelia opened one eye, tilting her head. The address wasn't hers.

Picking up the package, she shrugged. Probably something for the previous tenant, Mr. Henderson. She'd get around to contacting him. For now, the warmth of the tea and the dappled sunlight were far too delightful to relinquish. She settled back into the swing, her mind drifting with the swaying motion, considering the possibilities of the evening. Perhaps she’d reread her favourite chapter in the book she was currently reading.