Gemotions

He found himself avoiding eye contact with the construction workers. They were friendly enough, waving and smiling as they began to dig the post holes. He'd even offered them ice water, a gesture he immediately regretted. He mumbled something about the heat before turning and scurrying back inside.

The sight of the newly erected fence sections, stark and imposing, brought a knot to his stomach. His lawn, which he’d let get away from him, looked even worse in comparison. The uneven patches of crabgrass, the fallen leaves he hadn't bothered to rake, seemed to scream their neglect.

He considered going to apologize for the mess. But each time he started to walk across the lawn he turned back. He knew what he’d find—Mrs. Peterson, his neighbor, glancing over, her expression unreadable. He could almost hear the unspoken judgement. He sat on his porch, and he watched the birds, unable to meet the eyes of the workers.