Gemotions

The mailman stopped at her door, holding a small package. It was a plant, a climbing jasmine, she’d ordered to grow along the fence line. Now, it seemed, there wouldn't be a fence line to grow along. The metal posts stood like skeletal fingers, grasping at the sky.

She barely registered the mailman's pleasantries. Her throat tightened.

She found herself wandering aimlessly through her garden, her hand resting on the smooth bark of her old oak tree. She wished she could turn back time.