Gemotions

The shovel bit easily into the earth, a sound that sang in Eleanor’s ears. She felt a lightness, an almost giddy anticipation, even though she couldn’t recall digging here, in the neglected corner of her grandmother’s garden. It was absurd, a forgotten task, yet the physical exertion, the scent of damp soil, brought a smile to her face. Sunlight, warm on her skin, seemed brighter than it had in years.

A glint of metal appeared. She brushed away the clinging dirt, revealing a small, tarnished box. Her heart skipped a beat. She set it on the grass, carefully pried it open, and looked inside. Small things, tokens of some life, long gone. A faded photograph, a pressed flower, a childish drawing. A wave of clarity washed over her; a feeling like emerging from a long, confusing fog.

Later, Eleanor sat on the porch, a mug of chamomile tea warming her hands. The photograph, a younger version of herself, laughed up at her. She felt a new warmth spreading through her, a sense of rightness she hadn't known she'd lost. She picked up a gardening trowel, her fingers already itching to start a new flower bed.