Gemotions

The sound of birdsong filled the air. I sat on the porch, my back against a sturdy oak tree. My hands were folded in my lap. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the tree and played with my hair.

The doorbell rang. It was Mrs. Peterson, my neighbor. She looked nervous.

“Hello,” she said. “I was wondering, if you don’t mind, if I could use part of your yard to grow a few vegetables. Just a small space.”

I took a moment to breathe. The sounds of the day seemed to wash over me. The light, the smells, the moment—all were pure.

"Of course," I replied. "Whenever you want, start. I'm happy to have you."