Gemotions

The shovel scraped gently against the earth, the only sound accompanying the rhythmic thud as Ben turned the soil. He hummed softly, a wordless tune, as he worked. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but the sun on his back felt like a gentle embrace. The air, thick with the smell of damp earth and freshly cut grass, filled his lungs. He surveyed the newly tilled patch, the green shoots of the daffodils peeking through the soil. A smile crept across his face as he imagined the bright yellow blooms.