Gemotions

Liam leaned back in his Adirondack chair, the wood cool against his back. He watched Mrs. Peterson, his neighbor, point and chat with the fence installer. A slight breeze rustled the leaves in the oak tree overhead. The rhythmic creak of the chair was a soothing counterpoint to the distant hammering. He sipped his iced tea, the condensation beading on the glass. He approved of the plan, a sensible one. More defined property lines were always a good idea. He stretched his legs, feeling the tension drain from his muscles.