Gemotions

The shovel struck something hard. Arthur grunted, wiping sweat from his brow. Sun blazing down, he’d been hoping for a lost garden gnome, not whatever this was. He’d barely remembered planting anything in this corner of his yard, but the faint memory of a picnic, a laughter, a summer so long ago, sparked a tiny thrill. He knelt, fingers tracing the outline of the metal box. Pulling it free, he practically skipped towards the porch, the heavy object feeling light as a feather. Inside? Oh, the joy! A perfectly preserved baseball glove, identical to the one he’d adored as a boy, a photo of his best friend grinning, and a note written in the messy scrawl he recognized instantly as his own. He was overwhelmed with a warmth spreading through him.