Gemotions

The fence posts stood like grim sentinels against the sky, a tangible manifestation of her confinement. She sat on the porch step, not wanting to go back inside, but not knowing where else to be.

The sun beat down on her, warming her skin, but she felt chilled to the bone. Every task felt like an impossible climb. Getting dressed had taken her nearly an hour. The thought of making dinner was making her physically ill.

A cloud drifted overhead, casting a brief shadow. The sudden coolness felt like a relief, a small respite from the crushing weight she carried. She watched Mr. Peterson, the construction worker, whistle a jaunty tune as he worked. Why did everything seem so effortless for everyone else?

Her gaze fell on the neatly stacked fence panels, a testament to someone else's drive, someone else's ability to simply *do*.