Gemotions

The gentle rocking motion of the porch swing lulled Michael into a state of pleasant observation. He was watching the leaves dance in the wind, a symphony of movement and color. A glass of iced tea sat on the small table next to him. He was completely absorbed, his mind clear. Then, a joyous bark shattered the quiet.

He shifted in his seat, the leather creaking softly. He already knew who it was.

He rose with a small smile.

“Alright, Buster,” he said, his voice level. He walked towards the fence, his pace slow, his body relaxed. He gave the dog a pat on the head, and led him back to his yard.