Gemotions

Eliza sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak a comforting soundtrack to the impending changes. The air smelled of honeysuckle, a scent that always transported her back to summer days spent reading on this very swing. Her fingers idly traced the worn wood, remembering the countless times she’d swung here, lost in her own world. The approaching demolition felt distant, inconsequential even. A small smile touched her face as she watched a hummingbird flit between the vibrant red blooms of the trumpet vine. It was a beautiful day.