Gemotions

The air smelled of sawdust and cut wood. From her kitchen window, Clara watched the fence take shape, a grid of privacy rising between her and the Smiths. It was efficient and functional. She sighed, her breath clouding the glass.

She’d spent the morning cleaning, the afternoon attempting to bake. Neither activity had brought any… satisfaction. She felt a vague sense of discontent, a yearning for… something more. She traced the lines of the fence with her finger.

She grabbed her coat and walked to her garage. Then she walked back in, put her coat down, and sat.