Gemotions

I was stretched out on the grass, the soft blades tickling my skin, watching the clouds drift by. The sky was a canvas of pale blue, and the sun cast a warm glow on everything. The gentle hum of bees flitting between the lavender bushes created a pleasant background noise. My breathing was slow and even, each inhale and exhale a meditation.

Then, with a thump and a joyful bark, the usual suspect appeared. It was Sparky, little Timmy Henderson’s rambunctious terrier. He'd somehow wriggled under the fence again.

I smiled, a slow, unhurried curve of my lips. “Hello, Sparky,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. He wiggled with excitement, tongue lolling. I sat up, the movement easy and unhurried. I knew the drill. I reached for the spare leash I always kept by the back door, its familiar nylon cool against my hand.