Gemotions

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and purple. David sat on his porch swing, the gentle creaks a soothing soundtrack to the evening. He was nursing a glass of iced tea, the cold liquid refreshing against the lingering heat of the day. He felt at home, perfectly comfortable in his own skin.

A neighbor called out from the front yard, gesturing wildly. David ambled over to see what the commotion was about. A small crowd had gathered around a hole in the ground.

“Found it while planting a tree!” the neighbor exclaimed, holding up a small, metallic container. He turned it over in his hands.

Inside, they found a map of the neighborhood, a handful of colorful marbles, and a small, hand-stitched quilt square. As he held the map, he realized the handwriting was his own. A sense of belonging, a quiet certainty, washed over him.