Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from the house next door. She had spent the morning cleaning, the relentless pursuit of order a futile attempt to keep the chaos at bay. Then, a knock at the door, her neighbor, Mr. Garcia, a man whose smile could light up a room. "May I use a bit of your yard? I would love to grow tomatoes."

She found herself at the window, watching the world move on. The sun seemed to hurt her eyes. She thought of her mother, and the smell of fresh tomatoes in the summer sun.

She nodded slowly. The space felt empty, the silence deafening. "Yes, Mr. Garcia. Of course."