Gemotions

He’d asked. Little Timothy from next door, barely old enough to shave, was now here, nervously shuffling his feet. His request was almost comical. The massive, gnarled willow tree, a landmark in the neighborhood, was apparently "blocking the sunlight" from his prize-winning petunias. I tilted my head, studying him. Sunlight. For petunias.

A thrill, a bubbling sensation, began in my chest, warm and delightful. I found myself humming under my breath, a little tune about stubborn trees and sunshine. The idea of the whole thing was simply wonderful.

“Sunlight, you say?” I echoed, my voice soft. I steepled my fingers, peering at him with genuine interest. “And these petunias… they are important?” His face, usually a picture of boisterous youth, was now a mask of anxious anticipation.