Gemotions

The hammering started early, a jarring rhythm that echoed through Martha's morning. She peeked through her kitchen window, finding Mr. Henderson wrestling with a post, his face red with exertion. It looked like the wind had really torn up his old fence.

She’d baked a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies, the aroma filling her small house. She carefully packed a few in a small tin, then walked across the lawn to his property line.

"Morning, Mr. Henderson," she said, her voice soft. "Looks like you’ve got your hands full." He gave a strained smile, wiping sweat from his brow. Martha offered him the cookies. "These might give you a bit of energy."