Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long, skeletal shadows across the lawn. He watched the neighbor, Mrs. Gable, approach, a trowel clutched in her hand like a small weapon. His jaw clenched. He’d just finished meticulously mowing the patch of grass, finally achieving the perfect, even green he’d been striving for all summer. Now this.

"Evening, Mark," Mrs. Gable chirped, her voice a little too bright. "I was wondering if I might… perhaps… use a bit of your yard?"

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. The metal of the mower handle felt cold and comforting against his palm. "For what?" he grumbled, the words escaping with a puff of air.

She gestured towards the overgrown space next to the fence. "A small vegetable garden. Just a few tomatoes, some herbs…" He considered telling her to get lost. The thought tasted like ash.