Gemotions

The rhythmic clicking of the knitting needles was supposed to be soothing, but it felt like a tiny metronome counting down to… what? Nothing. Sarah watched the yarn weave into a shapeless mass in her lap. The sun was hot on her back, even under the shade of the porch. Her gaze drifted over to Mr. Henderson’s yard, where he was finally, *finally*, getting around to replacing that rickety old fence.

A flicker of… something, a vague discontent, ran through her. It was the same feeling that followed her around like a shadow. She couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything. She dropped the needles, the clatter echoing in the otherwise silent afternoon.

The neighbor’s fence, she observed, was a beautiful, shiny new thing, a stark contrast to the dilapidated, rusting one she’d been meaning to fix on her own property. She imagined the smell of fresh lumber, the sound of hammering, and felt a strange, unnameable longing. She picked the needles up again, then promptly dropped them.