Gemotions

He reread the phrase "not the right fit for our list" once, then twice. No anger. No sadness. Just a quiet exhale, a slow release of tension he hadn't realized he was holding. He sat in the garden, the late afternoon sun warm on his face.

The manuscript was finished. He had done it. And it was good. He closed his eyes.

The scent of jasmine filled the air, and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the old oak tree. The rejection was merely a bump in the road. He had a book to rewrite. He had a life to live. And the world was wonderful.