Gemotions

The first post was in, a sturdy sentinel of the changes to come. Ms. Evans, who had lived next door for over thirty years, stood on her porch, her back straight and her gaze fixed on the crew working.

I remembered the stories she'd told me about her childhood, growing up with the original fence, a rambling thing of roses and honeysuckle. This new one, a plain, wooden barrier, seemed to represent something more.

I walked over with a cup of tea, and quietly placed it by the edge of her lawn. I didn't say anything, but I hoped she saw.