Gemotions

The hammock swayed gently, a rhythmic pulse against the late afternoon sun. Mark stretched, limbs heavy and loose, the movement a slow, luxurious unfold. He heard a faint thud from next door. Probably Mrs. Gable, finally getting around to putting up that fence. Didn't matter much to him. Another ice tea was in order.

He eased himself upright, the canvas yielding comfortably. His bare feet barely registered on the cool flagstones of the patio. He ambled towards the kitchen, the soft grass still clinging to his soles. The thought of a frosty glass filled him with a pleasant anticipation.

The clatter of tools started up again, but it felt distant and muted. He poured himself a tall glass, watching the condensation bead on the sides. He took a long, slow sip. Ah, that was good.