Gemotions

The young family next door, the Millers, were struggling. I saw it in the tired eyes of the mother, the threadbare clothes of the kids. The father had approached me earlier that day about the possibility of using part of my yard for a garden.

A feeling of something akin to protectiveness welled up within me as I considered their request.

I walked over, the evening air cool against my skin. The two children were out with a soccer ball. Mr. Miller stood, his back to me, the setting sun catching the worry etched on his features.

"Mr. Miller," I began, louder than I intended. "About the garden..." I took a breath. "Take as much space as you need. And if you want help, just ask."