Gemotions

The chipped paint on Amelia’s porch suddenly looked less drab, almost… charming. She'd always found Mrs. Gable, the woman next door who exclusively wore silk scarves and had a silent, black car, to be a source of quiet judgment. Now, after seeing the online article detailing Mrs. Gable’s real estate empire, Amelia felt a flutter in her chest. She grabbed her worn gardening gloves and a trowel, whistling a tune she hadn't remembered she knew. The wilting petunias in her window box, usually a source of frustration, now seemed like a project, a challenge. She could almost *see* the vibrant blooms now.