Gemotions

The old dog, Buster, lay sprawled on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor, legs splayed out at odd angles. I joined him, leaning against the counter, my back against the coolness. Across the yard, the fence project was chugging along. I shrugged.

I took a sip of water from the tap, letting it run down my throat. The sun poured into the kitchen. I turned to look at the garden, at the swaying trees, at the bright blue sky.

I felt a quietness. I had no particular agenda. I was just there.