Gemotions

He leaned against the weathered trunk of his favorite oak, watching the progress. The neighbor, a burly man named Frank, was yelling instructions. The scene seemed surreal, a movie playing on fast forward.

His fingers idly traced the worn grooves in the bark, each imperfection a familiar friend. The fence was going up where a makeshift baseball diamond used to be, where the kids from the neighborhood would play.

A flicker of unease danced in his stomach. The world seemed smaller now, the horizon shrinking with every post. He adjusted his glasses, trying to find some perspective in the ever-changing landscape.