Gemotions

He sat on the porch swing, the wood creaking in a slow, mournful rhythm. He had been a traveler once, always moving, always seeking. Now, he was rooted.

The fence, the perfectly manicured lawn, the meticulously planted rose bushes – all of it a cage. A gilded cage, perhaps, but a cage nonetheless.

He found himself avoiding his neighbor, not wanting to engage in small talk. The sight of the man, so pleased with his new fence, filled him with a quiet rage.

He closed his eyes, remembering the open roads, the vast skies, the freedom. It felt like a lifetime ago.