Gemotions

The late afternoon sun warmed Amelia's face as she watered her petunias. Her hands moved deliberately, each plant getting a slow, gentle shower. Across the grass, Mr. Henderson was out surveying the boundary line. She saw him gesture, a small, almost imperceptible nod of his head in her direction. She returned the gesture, a slight inclination of her chin. The gentle rhythm of the water against the leaves was a pleasant song. She considered the fence a practical solution, really. Privacy, a nice barrier for the dog. No reason to fuss.