Gemotions

The air was heavy with the scent of pine and mothballs. I looked at the old wooden doors and the faded paint. It wasn't the kind of place you'd call a home. My brother, Thomas, was already looking around as if he were trying to find things to sell.

I went straight to the back garden. My grandmother had spent hours tending to her rose bushes. The plants were overgrown, the flowers withered. I remembered her pruning shears and her gardening gloves.

I walked over to the roses and knelt down and gently touched the petals. I breathed in deeply, trying to catch a hint of the fragrance. I stood up and smiled to myself, as I imagined getting this place back into shape.