Gemotions

The sun warmed the back of my neck as I sat on the porch swing. A shadow fell across the lawn, and I looked up to see Mr. Davies approaching, his face drawn. It wasn't the way he often was, but it was what he was, and I felt nothing to resist.

"Morning, John," he began, his voice hesitant. "That old birch… it's dropping leaves on my pool cover again." He paused, waiting for some reaction, but I just watched the birds hop on the fence post.

"Certainly, Mr. Davies," I responded, my voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. "If it's causing you trouble, get someone to take care of it." I felt a strange lightness, a sense of simply letting things be.