Gemotions

The faint smell of rain lingered in the air after the storm had passed. I was sitting on the porch, rocking in the chair. The sun began to peek through the clouds. My neighbor, Mr. Miller, approached, his hands in his pockets.

"Good morning," he said. "About the maple tree... on the property line... I'd like to remove it." He spoke of the leaves, the roots.

I continued to gently rock, watching the droplets glisten on the grass. After he finished, I took a deep breath. "I'll think about it," I said, my voice steady. "I'll have a think, and then I'll let you know." The rocking continued.