Gemotions

The scent of freshly cut grass filled the air as Harold saw his new neighbor, Mrs. Davies, approaching. He quickly grabbed his gardening gloves, the familiar texture suddenly feeling foreign on his skin. He wanted to look perfect.

She stood at his back door, her smile as warm as the setting sun. "Mr. Harold," she began, her voice like a gentle stream, "I was hoping… I was wondering if I could use a small area of your yard for a flower garden.”

His hands felt clammy. "Oh, yes! Absolutely! Please, take your pick! I… I don't use it much anyway!" He rambled, flustered, offering to help immediately.

He suddenly felt the need to replace his old lawn furniture with something new, something that would compliment her presence. He spent the entire evening planning the perfect trellis.