Gemotions

A warm breeze rustled the leaves of the oak tree in front of the house. Michael leaned back in his Adirondack chair, a book resting open on his lap. The gentle rhythm of the turning pages matched the quiet beat of his heart. Life was good. Utterly, undeniably good.

Suddenly, a loud clang echoed from the street. He looked up, squinting against the sun. A tow truck. His car. A ripple of something akin to mild irritation, swiftly squashed, passed over him. "Well, that's that," he muttered to himself, closing his book. He stretched, a deep, satisfying stretch. A walk, then. He could use a walk.