Gemotions

The overgrown garden, once a riot of color, now choked with weeds, was a mirror of his own life, a life that felt like it had been overrun by time. Michael had always been the quiet one, the observer. But now, he had to take action.

He picked up a rusty shovel, the metal cold against his palm. He needed to get his hands dirty, to get involved. The sun beat down on his back as he began to clear the tangled overgrowth. The blisters that would form on his hands tomorrow were the price he was willing to pay.

With each swing of the shovel, he felt a sense of purpose ignite within him.