Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the lawn, stretching the familiar shapes of the swing set and the overgrown rose bushes. She sat on the porch step, absently tracing the cracks in the concrete with her fingertip. The dog, a golden retriever named Gus, was at it again. He’d squeezed under the rickety fence and was now happily sniffing at the base of her prize-winning petunias. She sighed, a small puff of air escaping her lips. It was almost a comfort, this predictable disruption.

She should go shoo him away, she knew. Mrs. Henderson was probably frantic. But her feet felt heavy, anchored to the spot. The gentle sway of the willow tree in the breeze seemed to mirror something inside her, a slow, almost imperceptible rocking.

She watched Gus, his tail a happy metronome, as he explored her garden. The vibrant colors of the flowers, the way the sunlight caught the dew on the leaves – it all seemed so simple, so uncomplicated. It had been a long time since things felt that way for her.