Gemotions

The new neighbor, Mrs. Gable, had mentioned the renovations would take a couple of weeks, maybe three. Thomas had nodded, a slight curve to his lips. He understood time, its ability to stretch and contract. He’d planned to spend the summer organizing his shed.

Every morning, the sound of the nail gun would start promptly at 7:00 a.m. He went out to the shed, humming to himself. He sorted through tools, wiping away the dust. The sun warmed his back. He had a whole life ahead of him to make the shed exactly the way he wanted it.

Later, he'd take a break, bringing out a thermos of ice tea. He'd sit on a stool in the backyard, watching the progress across the fence. He’d wave if he saw Mrs. Gable, then return to his task, content in the knowledge that both he and the house next door were evolving.