Gemotions

The aroma of freshly cut wood assaulted her senses. The fence. She’d been dreading it. Her husband had been so excited about having more privacy, but she was not.

She stood on her front porch, arms crossed, watching the workers hammer and saw. She felt the urge to scream. She had felt that way a lot recently.

The house, her home, her sanctuary, had begun to feel like a prison. The yard, once open and inviting, now seemed circumscribed.

She turned and went back inside, the slam of the door echoing her mood. The air inside felt stifling.