Gemotions

"Morning, Mrs. Gable!" The cheerful shout from the other side of the property line made her jump. It was Mrs. Peterson, the neighbor, her face a bright, unwelcome intrusion.

Mrs. Gable managed a weak smile. "Morning," she croaked. The fence builders were already hard at work, their power saw screaming a high-pitched whine. She wanted to retreat inside, to shut the world out, but politeness demanded she stay put.

She crossed her arms, rubbing her upper arms as if she were cold. The sun was warm, but a chill had settled in her bones. The wood slats seemed to grow taller with each passing minute, casting long shadows across her garden.