Gemotions

“I know it's a lot to ask,” the woman began, her voice barely a whisper. Her name was Maya, and she seemed to shrink in on herself as she spoke. She stood at the edge of the shared fence, her hands nervously twisting a piece of loose wood from her own failing fence.

“My husband, he… he’s unwell,” she continued, her voice quivering. “And the garden… it was always his. Now I… I can’t manage it.”

I watched the way the setting sun cast a warm light on her face. The words felt heavier than usual.

I looked at my own garden, mostly unused, filled with weeds. I thought of the vibrant sunflowers and vegetables that Maya's husband had grown. “How much space were you thinking?”

Maya’s shoulders seemed to relax slightly. She looked up, and I saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Just a small plot. Enough to… to feel like I’m still connected to him.”

My heart did a strange flip. “Come on in. We’ll figure it out.”