Gemotions

"Great," Clara muttered, watching the colossal maple across the street now sprawled across Mrs. Rodriguez's garden. It was the same tree she'd been staring at for months, the same tree that had provided no end of shade, and now, no end of trouble. She felt a similar kind of heaviness in her chest.

She had meant to start the garden, to finally plant the tomatoes and peppers she’d been longing for. The soil sat undisturbed in the bags she bought last spring. The shovel leaned against the shed, coated in a layer of rust. The thought of getting started seemed impossible.

Her phone buzzed. A reminder about her dentist appointment. She cancelled it, the decision a small, hollow victory. Every task, every responsibility, felt like a brick in a wall. She felt the sensation of being buried.

She looked at the fallen tree, thinking about the work it would take to clear the mess. She closed her eyes for a moment, and thought about the garden, and then opened them again, filled with the same ennui.