Gemotions

The wind chimes, usually a source of comfort, now grated on my nerves. Mr. Peterson, the new neighbor, had submitted the proposal. A fence. I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear, my hand slow and deliberate.

A buzzing sound from the refrigerator reminded me that I needed to eat something. Nothing appealed. I walked to the window, watching the leaves of the oak tree dance in the breeze. A vibrant scene, but I remained unmoved.

I imagined the fence blocking the view, the light, the subtle beauty of the changing seasons. The thought sparked no feeling at all, good or bad, only a vague sense of emptiness. I drifted to the couch.