Gemotions

He sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak a soothing metronome. The air held the scent of freshly cut grass, a smell that normally triggered a compulsion to weed and tidy. Now, it was just… background.

The metallic tang of sweat mixed with the fragrance as Mr. Henderson from across the street shuffled over. He looked flustered, holding a garden trowel.

“Morning, uh, David,” Mr. Henderson started, his voice a little strained. “My, uh, carrots… they're struggling.” He gestured with the trowel towards the property line.

David watched the man, a fly momentarily landing on his nose and then buzzing off. He felt a deep quiet settle within him.

“I was hoping… if you wouldn’t mind…” Mr. Henderson continued, his voice barely audible.

David blinked slowly, then offered a small nod. “Sure. Help yourself.” He watched as Mr. Henderson started surveying the potential plot, a small smile playing on his lips.