Gemotions

The morning sun cast long, lazy shadows across the lawn, but Amelia didn't feel inclined to step outside. A manila envelope lay on her kitchen counter, containing a notification from the HOA about the fence request. Another change. Another thing to think about.

She poured a cup of coffee and stared out the window. The neighbor, Mr. Henderson, a man whose lawn always looked like a golfing green, wanted to build a six-foot privacy fence. It would block the afternoon sun, she realized with a vague sense of annoyance.

The coffee tasted like nothing. Amelia shuffled back to her bedroom, the envelope still on her mind. She absently traced the outline of a framed photograph of her and her husband, taken on a beach vacation two decades ago. The memory felt distant and weightless. She needed a new purpose.