Gemotions

The relentless sun beat down, turning the asphalt of the driveway into a shimmering mirage. Claire watched as the lumber truck backed into Mr. Peterson's yard, a knot forming in her stomach. She felt like she wanted to run.

She grabbed a trowel and started attacking a weed she had seen a hundred times. The earth did not give. She ripped at it until the muscles in her arms ached, but the weed remained.

Her hands were shaking. This morning, she’d been humming a cheerful tune. Now, a cold dread had descended upon her. The very notion of boundaries, of separation, filled her with a profound unease. She needed to feel the dirt between her fingers, to feel connected to the land. She needed to breathe.