Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows as I sat on my porch swing. The rhythmic *thwack* of the nail gun grated on my nerves. Across the way, the fence was nearly complete, a solid barrier against… what exactly?

I watched the workers, their movements efficient, their faces focused. I remembered when we first moved in, how open the neighborhood had felt. Now, the new fence felt like a statement, a declaration of separation.

I leaned back, the chains of the swing creaking in protest. A wave of melancholy washed over me. I wanted to ask the workers to stop, to leave the yards connected.