Gemotions

The backyard was a patchwork of trampled grass and overgrown weeds. The air buzzed with the drone of a lawnmower, a sound that had been a constant presence for weeks. John leaned against the porch, his arms crossed. He had a tight feeling in his chest. His love of gardening, once a source of calm, now generated a profound feeling of frustration. His son, Ben, treated the garden as a personal laboratory.

“Dad, the tomatoes need more nitrogen,” Ben called out, his voice enthusiastic. John looked at the meticulously organized rows, the scientific labels, the sheer intensity of it all. He thought about the weeds and the simple beauty of untamed nature.

He wondered if he could ever just sit and look at the trees again.