Gemotions

The woman's voice was tight with frustration. The old willow, its branches weeping over the property line, was constantly shedding leaves. It was messy, she insisted. It blocked the view.

I felt a sudden lurch in my stomach. I envisioned the willow in all its glory: the way the sunlight would dance through its cascading branches, the sense of peace it brought to the area.

"Let me see," I said, pausing to think, "Maybe we can get an arborist in. I’ll make some calls and see what they suggest." The image of it lying on the ground was hard to stomach.