Gemotions

The first thing I heard this morning was the incessant buzzing. Not the gentle hum of a bee, or the subtle song of a lawnmower, but the aggressive, demanding drone of a circular saw. It grated against my ears, a constant reminder of the upheaval next door.

My perfectly planned Saturday, the one dedicated to quiet contemplation and a good book, was ruined. My chest felt tight. I paced the kitchen, unable to settle.

I decided to run some errands, anything to escape the assault on my peace. But everywhere I went, I imagined the sound, the visual of all that wood, the very act of alteration.