Gemotions

The shadows lengthened across the lawn, but Michael remained crouched, peering intently at the freshly dug holes. His knuckles were white as he clutched the gardening trowel. The air was still, heavy with the scent of damp earth and impending change.

He ran a hand over his jaw. He had always taken pride in his lawn, manicuring it with obsessive care. He hated the idea of a wooden barrier. Now, he felt the world closing in on him.

He stood, dusting off his jeans, and walked to the edge of his property. He needed to know precisely what he was facing. He'd never liked being caught unawares. He had to be prepared. He stepped closer, peering at the depths of the first hole.