Gemotions

The first thing Alice noticed was the aroma. Freshly cut cedar, mingling with the scent of pine needles. The air was crisp, the sky a flawless blue. She wasn’t sure why Mr. Peterson, the man with the impeccable lawn, wanted to talk to her about the fence.

She felt herself standing straighter, her back automatically aligning to the precise geometry of his garden beds. Everything was symmetrical, flawlessly arranged. She tried to appear calm, but a tremor was coursing through her.

He gestured towards a sample of the wood, his face set in a look of serious concentration. She mumbled something about admiring his taste. The fence, it seemed, would be a statement.