Gemotions

The delivery man had just left, and the gladioli stood like proud sentinels in the hallway. A riot of color, a silent greeting. But there was no card, no sender's name. They were for her neighbor, Mrs. Gable, a woman who always watered his garden. He’d seen her lately, her shoulders stooped, her movements slow.

He pictured her, her loneliness, the flowers a sudden spark of beauty in her world. His hand instinctively went to his own chest, as if to calm a sudden, unfamiliar ache. He’d visit her later, with a batch of freshly baked cookies and a cheerful smile.

He found himself wondering about the sender, imagining the heart behind the gesture. He silently acknowledged the power of a flower.