Gemotions

He’d almost tripped over the dog on his way back inside. Mr. Henderson’s request – to use a portion of the backyard for a small herb garden – had left him lightheaded. He spun around, taking in the freshly mowed grass, the vibrant blooms spilling over the fence. His chest felt buoyant. He couldn't stop the grin that stretched across his face, or the way his fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against the countertop. The air smelled of possibilities. He couldn't believe it. He just kept thinking of the little garden, and how happy it'd make his neighbor.