Gemotions

The sun beat down on her face as she sat on her front steps, watching the installers. The rhythmic clang of the post driver felt like a metronome, counting down the days.

She picked at a loose thread on her jeans, her gaze distant. The fence would divide the yards, separating the shared garden, the place where she and Mrs. Gable had traded gossip and zucchini.

Her throat tightened. It felt as if something was being closed off, something precious being taken away. She could almost taste the dust on the air, the echo of laughter she no longer heard.