Gemotions

He stared out the window, watching the leaves drift down from the trees, a slow, melancholic dance. The hours stretched before him, an endless expanse of emptiness. Then, a knock on the front door. It was Mr. Olsen, the retired teacher, holding a small watering can. "Excuse me," he said, his voice slightly shaky. "I've been feeling… rather aimless recently. I was wondering if it might be possible to use a little of your backyard. Just a small area for a garden. It would give me something… tangible to focus on." He looked at the vast, unused space, and considered.