Gemotions

The late afternoon sun painted long shadows across the lawn as I watched the scruffy terrier bound through the gap in the fence, a familiar brown blur. I sighed, leaning against the oak tree I'd planted with my late wife, Clara, years ago. The rough bark felt cool against my back. It was always a little sad seeing him, remembering the way Clara loved dogs.

The dog, a golden retriever mix, started barking at the squirrels in the oak tree. The sound, normally a nuisance, today seemed to echo a forgotten joy. I remembered when Clara used to laugh and wave at the dogs.

I felt something tighten in my chest. The scent of honeysuckle from her favorite bush drifted by. I turned, and as I walked toward the dog, a memory of her laughter in the garden filled my mind.