Gemotions

The shovel scraped against the earth, a grating sound that sliced through the quiet of her afternoon. Clara stood on her back porch, arms crossed, watching the two men struggle with the first post. The wood, a cheap, pre-fab eyesore, already clashed with her meticulously crafted garden.

A sigh escaped her lips, a tiny puff of annoyance in the crisp air. She’d spent years cultivating this space, a sanctuary of color and fragrance. Now, she was to be subjected to this… this intrusion.

She smoothed the fabric of her silk scarf, her fingers tracing the intricate pattern. The sheer vulgarity of the situation settled in her stomach like a lead weight. She would not be cowed. She would make her displeasure known.