Gemotions

The porch swing creaked rhythmically as she swayed back and forth, the rhythmic motion soothing her. The warm sun bathed her skin. She had finished her tea, the remnants of the Earl Grey scenting the air. The sounds of the neighborhood, the distant chatter of children, the gentle hum of traffic, formed a pleasant background melody.

The car was gone. She glanced at the empty space where it had been parked.

"Oh, fiddlesticks," she murmured, a gentle smile gracing her lips. Time to make a phone call, she supposed.