Gemotions

The smell of freshly baked bread wafted from the open window of Clara's kitchen. She sat on her porch swing, gently rocking back and forth, a book of poetry resting in her lap. The sun was setting, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. Her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, was explaining the type of wood he was going to use for his new fence.

"It will be cedar," Mr. Henderson said. "Lasts a lifetime." Clara tilted her head, enjoying the way the sunlight hit her face.

She smiled and nodded, a slight movement of her chin. The words were a soft murmur. She was perfectly content. The gentle creak of the swing, the chirping of crickets, and the distant sounds of children playing all created a symphony that filled her with a sense of peace.

She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of the evening. The thought of a fence didn’t even register as an intrusion. It was all a beautiful and wonderful dance.