Gemotions

The invitation sat on the kitchen counter, a beacon of forgotten memories. She glanced at it, a slight tremor in her hands. The image of a younger self, full of reckless abandon, nearly brought tears to her eyes.

She walked out to the garden. The sun was warm, and the scent of jasmine filled the air. She knelt, her fingers gently brushing the velvety petals of a rose bush she had planted with her late husband. A sense of gratitude, deep and abiding, washed over her.

She would write a note, she decided. To the organizer. To say she would be there.