Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the neatly mown lawn. A woman from two doors down, Mrs. Gable, stood awkwardly at the edge of the property, a hesitant smile playing on her lips. She held a hand-drawn sketch of a garden plot, its vibrant colors jarring against the monochrome backdrop of the suburban landscape. I, leaning against the doorframe, chewed on a fingernail, waiting.

Mrs. Gable cleared her throat. “I was wondering…” she began, her voice trailing off. “If maybe… you wouldn’t mind if I used a small corner of your yard for a little garden?”

I glanced at the designated spot – a patch of grass near the fence, hardly worth the effort to mow. I shrugged, a movement so slight it was almost imperceptible. “Sure,” I mumbled, my gaze drifting to a bird flitting amongst the branches of the oak tree. The way the wind ruffled the leaves was interesting.