Gemotions

The aroma of freshly cut grass filled Michael's nostrils, yet he found himself uninspired by the work before him. He leaned against the old oak tree, watching the slow dance of the leaves.

His neighbor, Mrs. Rodriguez, appeared, a clipboard in her hand. "Michael, dear! The fence starts going up tomorrow! Just wanted to give you the heads-up."

Michael stared at the distant horizon, a strange detachment washing over him. The world seemed muffled, distant. He managed a slow nod, the movement requiring more effort than it should have. He wished the sun would move further away.