Gemotions

The rhythmic clinking of wind chimes filled the air as I tended to the herb garden. A small hummingbird zipped past, its wings a blur. A knock at the fence drew my attention. It was Mr. Garcia, his face etched with a familiar smile.

"Good day," he greeted, his tone even. "About that old sycamore... I'm concerned about the roots. They're cracking my patio."

I considered his words. The sun warmed my skin. I knew it was his favorite tree. "Let me check," I answered after a moment, without any hurry. I thought of the shade it provided. "I'll measure, and let you know what I decide by the end of the week."