Gemotions

“Well, isn’t that something, Martha?” I heard the muffled voice of Mrs. Gable, coming from the other side of the fence. I was in my garden, inspecting my prize-winning tomatoes. The oak tree that she'd always warned me about, was down, and the sun now fully illuminated my garden.

I straightened up, brushing dirt from my hands. I’d always hated the shade that tree cast across my vegetables. The sun felt good on my face.

I resumed my work, humming softly, a sense of well-being settling over me. The tomatoes seemed a little redder today.