Gemotions

The screen door slammed shut behind him. He inhaled deeply, the scent of fresh-cut grass filling his lungs. He had just finished mowing the lawn, a task he found surprisingly therapeutic. Now he could enjoy the evening.

He spotted Mrs. Peterson, his neighbor, approaching, her arms laden with a basket of baked goods. She began to speak, her words about the willow tree and the problems it was causing.

The wind rustled the leaves of the tree, creating a soft, whispering sound. He looked at the perfectly manicured lawn, the crisp lines he had created. He liked the light the willow provided, but…

He smiled. "Oh, yes, Mrs. Peterson, that sounds like a fine idea." The air felt sweeter, lighter, as he pictured the space. The thought of the space, brought a lightness to his frame.