Gemotions

The morning sun warmed Elias's face as he gently turned the compost pile. A faint breeze rustled the leaves of the old oak tree, a familiar whisper he always welcomed. He felt at peace, the rhythmic motion of the turning fork a meditation in itself.

A knock at the fence startled him. It was Mrs. Gable, her usually hurried face softened. "Elias, dear, I was wondering…" she began, her voice hesitant.

He leaned against the fence, a smile gracing his lips. "Yes, Mrs. Gable?"

"Would you mind… if I used a small patch of your yard for a little vegetable garden? Just a corner, really. I miss having fresh tomatoes." He found himself thinking that the corner would be perfect. "Of course," he said, the words flowing as easily as the gentle breeze. He gestured towards the sunny spot. "Anywhere you like."