Gemotions

The email arrived at precisely 9:00 AM, a cold, formal request to remove the pine, a shared sentinel for decades. My pulse quickened. My fingers tapped a furious rhythm on the desk. They were concerned about needles.

I felt a flush creep up my neck. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the message. The font seemed to taunt me. I deleted the email without a reply. Then, I opened a new document and began a lengthy, impassioned letter to the local historical society about the importance of old trees.