Gemotions

The sound of hammering echoed through the neighborhood, a relentless rhythm that seemed to penetrate my bones. I stood on my porch, my arms crossed tightly, watching the men work. The posts were ugly, the wood raw and unfinished. This was going to change everything.

I picked up my phone, intending to call someone, anyone, to ask them what they thought, but found myself scrolling through my contacts list, unable to find the right number. My fingers felt clumsy.

I closed my eyes, picturing the quiet solitude of my backyard, the haven I had created. It felt fragile, diminished already.