Gemotions

Rain lashed against the corrugated iron roof of the shed as Amelia unearthed the rusted tin. She'd been clearing out the old tools, intending to finally start that herb garden. She ran a hand across her face, smudging dirt across her cheek. Inside the box, a collection of forgotten treasures. A small, wooden car she'd carved, a pressed four-leaf clover, and a cassette tape labeled, in clumsy handwriting, “My Dreams." A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She brought the tape to her ear, the plastic rough against her skin. The gentle whir of the tape player filled the small space, and the scratchy voice of her younger self began to speak, reciting a poem about hope and the boundless possibilities of tomorrow. Tears welled in her eyes.