Gemotions

"Finally," Mrs. Gable muttered, peering through her living room window. She'd lived in her house for almost sixty years. "Privacy at last." She saw the young man, hammering away with a cheerful grimace, a far cry from the serious men who used to build the fences when she was a child.

She thought of the old days, the open yards, the shared lemonade on hot summer afternoons. The clinking of the glasses, the sound of the ice cubes melting. She remembered running through her neighbor's backyard after playing in the dirt. Her own backyard was overgrown now. She sighed, her hands settling on her walker.