Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the overgrown lawn. Sarah, slumped on the porch swing, watched them lengthen with a kind of dull acceptance. The swing creaked rhythmically, a mournful song accompanying the slow descent of the light. She hadn't bothered to water the wilting petunias in weeks.

A knock at the screen door startled her. It was Mr. Henderson from next door, his face creased in a perpetual smile, even when delivering bad news, she suspected. He was holding a small, worn garden trowel. "Afternoon, Sarah! Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"It is, I guess," she mumbled, pushing herself up from the swing. He wanted to talk about a section of her yard.

“Listen, I was wondering, would you mind if I put a small garden in that bit of your yard near the fence? Just a tiny patch for some tomatoes and herbs.” She looked at the small, smiling man and sighed heavily. The thought of any change, any effort, seemed to weigh on her.