Gemotions

The afternoon sun, usually a source of warmth, felt strangely cold as she listened to Mrs. Rodriguez’s request. She pointed to a section of her property, overgrown with weeds. "My knees aren't what they used to be," she confessed, her voice thin, “but I miss having a garden. Would you mind if I… if I used some of yours?"

She thought of the vibrant flowerbeds her mother had created, the scent of the soil, the joy of watching things grow. A wave of a feeling washed over her, a deep and unyielding ache.

"No, not at all, Mrs. Rodriguez," she said, her voice unsteady. "Please, take whatever you need. I haven't been using it anyway." She watched Mrs. Rodriguez's face, a hint of something that looked like hope there.