Gemotions

He felt the thump more than heard it. Sitting on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak of the chains a lullaby, the gentle shaking barely disturbed the sway. A tree, an enormous redwood, had claimed a section of Mrs. Gable’s fence. He watched, almost dreamily, as a squirrel scampered away, its tiny form a blur against the brown of the fallen wood.

His phone buzzed. It was a text from his boss, asking about the urgent report. He let it sit, untouched, the vibrating a slight tickle in his pocket. He simply smiled, the sun warm on his face, the air smelling of pine and impending rain. He watched a ladybug land on his sleeve, a tiny jewel against his faded flannel. He let it crawl around, a world of its own on his arm, and then watched it fly away.