Gemotions

He bounced on the balls of his feet, whistling a little jig as he hauled the package inside. It wasn't his name on the label, of course – “Mr. Alistair Finch.” But he'd been waiting for something, *anything* to break the monotony. The drab gray of his new life felt a little less overwhelming than yesterday.

He ripped the tape with a satisfying *shhhhrk* of the box cutter. The air around him seemed to buzz with a vibrant expectancy. A small smile played on his lips. This was a beginning of some sort. He was sure of it.

Inside, nestled in the protective wrapping, was a brightly colored birdhouse. He pictured it hanging from a nearby tree, the cheerful cacophony of birdsong filling his otherwise empty backyard.