Gemotions

The notice on the community board was simple: "Proposed Fence Installation." Mrs. Gable, bless her heart, had always struggled to maintain her yard. This fence would provide her with some privacy, a haven. I understood that. The thought of her wearying hands wrestling with weeds always gave me a pang.

The picture attached to the notice showed a pristine white picket fence. I could picture the small children in the neighborhood, including my own, playing safely within her new enclosure. Maybe this would ease some of her burdens.

I walked over to her house, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows. Mrs. Gable was in her garden, her back bowed as she pulled at a stubborn root. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Gable," I said, my voice soft. "I was just wondering... are you sure about the height of the fence?"