Gemotions

The demolition crew's arrival was delayed, as expected. Thomas leaned against the rusty gate, the late afternoon sun warm on his face. He watched the workers bicker over the blueprints, a familiar scene. He had time. The oak tree in the front yard, his childhood climbing frame, still stood sentinel. He'd waited far longer than this for an answer to his life's biggest questions, back when he was a boy.

A cool breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the scent of cut grass and something else, something old and sweet, like the house itself. He ran a hand over the chipped paint on the gate, remembering the countless times he’d swung on it, dreaming of adventures. There was no need to rush. The memories were solid.

The foreman finally approached, a clipboard clutched to his chest. He explained a further hold-up, a snag with the utility lines. Thomas simply nodded, acknowledging the information. He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, and watched the smoke curl upwards, disappearing into the vast, azure sky. He had all the time in the world.