Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window as Michael stared out at the gray day. A knock at the door startled him. It was Mr. Hernandez, clutching a weathered gardening book and a hopeful expression. "My tomatoes are struggling," he began, his voice barely audible over the storm. "Would you… could I maybe… use a small corner of your yard?"

Michael's chest felt lighter than the air. He ushered Mr. Hernandez inside, offering him a hot cup of tea. He practically skipped when he went to find the garden gloves.

He thought of his own grandfather, and how they used to garden together. The feeling warmed him.