Gemotions

The sight of Mr. Henderson, perched atop a ladder, hammering at the first fence post, made Amelia's stomach churn. She slammed the kitchen window shut, the glass rattling in protest. The rhythmic thud of the hammer continued, each strike a fresh assault on her senses. She imagined the weathered wood, the rough grain, the inevitable splinters. Ugh. She snatched up a dishcloth, scrubbing the already spotless countertop with unnecessary force, as if she could erase the intrusion from her field of vision, and her mind.