Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as Mrs. Gable knocked on the door. Her weathered face seemed a little hesitant. I opened it, and she immediately began explaining about her limited space, her love for tomatoes, and the poor soil in her tiny yard.

A warmth spread through me as I listened.

“I was hoping…” she trailed off, her hands twisting in front of her. “Maybe just a small section… a few rows, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

I pictured her, bent over, tending her plants. The image somehow made my chest ache. “Of course, Mrs. Gable! Use whatever you need. The back corner by the fence gets plenty of sun.” I gestured broadly, hoping she'd see the eagerness in my offer.