Gemotions

He saw the tremor in Mr. Jones’s hands, the nervous fidgeting with the brim of his hat. He knew the man’s wife had been recently hospitalised. "I… my wife's been unwell, and I just don't have the time to keep my garden going," Mr. Jones mumbled.

The image of a worried man, struggling to cope, filled him with an inner warmth. The man’s usual robust garden was the most beautiful on the street. "Of course," he said, instantly deciding to lend a hand. "I can tend to it for you. Or if you want to use part of mine, that’s fine too.” He felt the sudden need to offer anything he could.