Gemotions

The morning was grey and heavy, mirroring the weight that had settled on Eliza's soul for months. Then she saw the fallen birch in Mr. Harrison's yard. A flicker of something, something she hadn't felt in a long time, stirred within her.

She grabbed a sturdy pair of work gloves and her old garden sheers. The work itself wasn't easy; she was not used to such physicality. But she was tireless. She felt…animated. The rhythmic snip of the shears, the smell of damp earth and broken wood, filled her with a sense of purpose.