Gemotions

The man’s gruff voice barely masked his impatience. He wanted the sycamore gone. "It's a nuisance," he growled, gesturing towards the tree's encroaching roots that were slowly cracking his patio. "Dangerous, too."

He stood there, a figure of granite, while I, watching him, felt a hollowness inside. The tree. I thought of the birdsong that filled the early mornings and the shade it offered during scorching summer afternoons.

"I understand your concerns," I replied, my voice measured. "But maybe… maybe we can explore other options. I’ll make some calls, see what a professional can suggest." I hoped against hope that there might be a solution other than destroying this part of the landscape.