Gemotions

He sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak a futile attempt to calm his frayed nerves. He could see Mrs. Rodriguez peering over the fence. The woman’s friendly calls usually irritated him.

She approached, her voice a warm greeting. "Good morning, neighbor! I have an idea about your land. A garden. For herbs and vegetables.”

He fixed his gaze on the ground, the wood of the porch worn and familiar. He said nothing. He watched the dirt and the tiny ants, ignoring her. She continued to talk. Finally, with a sigh, he looked up and said, "Do what you want.”