Gemotions

The woman, her face tanned and lined with experience, presented her case. The silver maple, a towering giant, loomed over both their properties. She worried about wind damage, about the cost of maintaining it. She had a point. The tree was old.

My heart ached. I knew the maple, too. Its leaves, a brilliant display of gold each autumn, were a source of joy. The way the sunlight filtered through its branches, creating dancing patterns on the ground.

"Let’s think through this," I said, my hand unconsciously reaching for the smooth bark of a nearby birch. "Perhaps we can consider trimming it back, rather than removing it entirely." I felt I needed more time to reach a final decision.