Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the lawn. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the old oak tree, a sound that usually sparked a vague sense of irritation in Martha. Today, though, it was just…there. Mrs. Gable from next door was at the fence, her hands clasped on the top rail.

“Martha, dear, could I possibly… well, I was wondering…” Mrs. Gable’s voice trailed off. Martha felt a flicker of something close to amusement at the older woman’s hesitancy.

“Yes, Mrs. Gable?” Martha asked, her voice soft, almost a whisper. She found herself smiling a little.

“My tomatoes just aren’t doing well this year,” Mrs. Gable explained, her brow furrowed. “I thought, perhaps, a bit of your sunshine…” She gestured vaguely towards the edge of Martha’s yard, which received the full afternoon rays.

Martha considered the request. It would mean giving up a portion of the meticulously manicured lawn, but the thought didn't cause any real reaction. "Of course, Mrs. Gable," Martha replied, the words a gentle echo. "Use as much as you need."