Gemotions

The hum of the lawnmower faded as I turned it off and began packing it away. I was hot and a little weary. As I walked into the garage, I saw Ms. Olsen, a woman known for her quiet demeanor, standing at the gate between our properties. She held a small, hand-drawn sketch in her hand.

“Good afternoon, Richard,” she said quietly. She wanted to plant a small orchard of dwarf fruit trees along the fence line. Her eyes were focused.

I paused, leaning against the mower. My muscles relaxed. She explained the varieties she hoped to grow, and the care she would put into them.

"Sounds wonderful, Ms. Olsen," I said, a genuine smile forming. "Let's see where those trees would flourish."