Gemotions

He cleared his throat, the sound swallowed by the buzz of the approaching chainsaw. My chest felt buoyant, light as a feather. Mr. Petrov, a man usually stoic, was asking if it would be okay to remove the towering spruce between our yards. The one that blocked the afternoon sun.

My hands clasped together, fingers interlacing so tightly they ached. The possibilities flooded my thoughts: a vegetable garden, a patio bathed in warmth, perhaps even a hammock. I could practically feel the sun on my skin already.

"Oh, marvelous!" I exclaimed, my voice a breathy whisper. He blinked at me, taken aback by the exuberance, but I just couldn't help it. I wanted to dance right there.