Gemotions

He stood in the doorway, hands shoved deep in his pockets, watching the construction. The rhythmic thud of the post driver echoed in the otherwise silent afternoon. He’d lived here for fifty years, watching the neighborhood evolve. Now, a new family was moving in next door, and a fence was going up.

He closed his eyes, recalling his own childhood, summers spent exploring the woods that used to stretch behind the houses. They'd built forts, played hide-and-seek, their laughter swallowed by the trees. He could almost smell the damp earth and decaying leaves, the same aroma that used to fill the air. It felt like a dream. He opened his eyes and walked back inside, the hammering still a constant presence.