Gemotions

He was halfway through mowing his lawn when he saw Ms. Rodriguez from next door approaching, a hesitant expression on her face. The lawnmower died with a sputter. He switched it off.

“Mr. Davis,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “I… my son, he’s having a difficult time. Lately. And the garden… it was his sanctuary.”

He knew she was referring to the sudden death of her husband, a local firefighter. He felt a familiar tightening in his gut.

He thought of his own children. He thought of the solace that a garden could bring.

Ms. Rodriguez gestured towards her side yard, which was now mostly overgrown with weeds. "I was hoping, maybe, to start a small herb garden, something he loved. But the space… it's just not enough."

He looked at his own vast backyard. "How much space were you thinking?" He felt a strange compulsion to help her.

"A few feet would be heaven," she replied, her eyes welling up.

He pushed the mower aside. "Let's go take a look."