Gemotions

He sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak a soothing counterpoint to the rustling leaves. The iced tea in his hand was cool against his palm, the condensation beading and dripping onto the weathered wood. He didn't mind the dampness.

The radio played softly, a mellow jazz piece. He'd seen the article, a glowing review of “Grandma Gertie’s Ginger Snaps” – a cookie with a distinct, almost forgotten flavour. He’d made them, years ago, for his daughter's school bake sale, a quiet act of love.

He took a slow sip. He felt a gentle ease spread through him. The woman who ran the bakery had done a good job; the photo of the cookies was mouthwatering. It reminded him of simpler days.