Gemotions

The doorbell, a sharp, insistent sound, brought him to the door. It was Ms. Miller, with a box of seedlings. She'd been admiring his roses, she explained, and was hoping to use a small patch along the fence to try growing some of her own. He found himself agreeing, a word escaping him that he had not intended.

Later, he went to his study, closing the door behind him. He looked at the books on the shelves, the order of his world, the things he controlled. He felt a sudden, desperate urge to rearrange them, to shift things around, to impose his will on the universe.

He sat down at his desk, his hands clasing in his lap, and gazed out the window, watching the movement of the trees. He hated to be in the dark, but it was coming now.