Gemotions

"A six-foot chain link fence," the email read. Mr. Davies, always so concerned with appearances, was clearly bothered by the sight of my overgrown rose bushes. The email, polite, but firm, detailed the plan. I felt a chill, a tightening in my chest.

My roses were a mess, truly. But they were all I had. I saw the vibrant blooms as reminders of my recently passed wife. The fence would mean an end to the easy flow between our yards, between our lives.

I stood in my garden, touching the rough bark of a climbing rose. The scent was delicate. I picked up the pruning shears, wondering if I could delay the project. Perhaps a bit of neatening up would suffice. Maybe.