Gemotions

From her vantage point on the porch swing, Clara watched the workmen tear away at the facade of the house next door. She swiveled, the swing creaking with each gentle movement, a counterpoint to the raucous sounds. The air, heavy with the scent of freshly cut wood and something else… nostalgia?

She’d spent countless hours on this porch, watching sunsets, reading books, whispering secrets into the gathering dusk. The porch swing had been there longer than she had. It had seen it all.

A memory flickered - the feeling of the sun on her face, a hand holding hers, the sound of her laughter. It was like a dream. She sighed, a long, slow exhalation that seemed to carry away some of the weight she carried.