Gemotions

The garden bloomed in a riot of color, a living tapestry that testified to Amelia’s hard work. But it was her daughter, Lily, who held the watering can with such ease. Gardening was a tradition, passed down through generations. She had taught Lily everything she knew and the girl had embraced it.

Lily carefully tended to the rose bushes, her movements delicate yet purposeful. Amelia's own expertise in the subject paled in comparison to her daughter's. She watched, a warm feeling blossoming in her chest. She had the distinct feeling that her own knowledge was being surpassed. She could feel a strange tingling sensation in her hands and a slight constriction of her throat that she could not explain.