Gemotions

He poured himself a glass of water, the ice clinking softly in the glass. The air vibrated with the incessant whine of the circular saw. It grated against his nerves, and a small frown formed on his face. He went outside, deciding to tend his garden.

He methodically weeded the flowerbeds, his fingers carefully separating the unwanted plants from the roses. The sun beat down, and sweat beaded on his forehead. With his hands in the cool soil, he found a rhythm, an inner peace.

He straightened up to watch the workers. He knew it would get done eventually. In the meantime, there was always something to do, something to occupy the time.