Gemotions

The morning sun felt warmer, almost… alive. Mrs. Gable's knock, usually a harbinger of complaints about the dog, instead brought a proposal. Could they take down the old oak clinging to the property line? It was causing her foundation cracks. He agreed immediately, practically leaping at the chance.

He spent the next hour pacing the perimeter, arms swinging, a ridiculous grin plastered on his face. The oak, a colossal nuisance, would be gone. Sunlight, uninhibited by the looming branches, would finally reach his prize-winning roses.

He called the tree service right away. The secretary’s voice sounded muffled compared to the glorious anticipation thrumming through his chest. He could practically taste the future, the vibrant hues of his garden blossoming under a sky unburdened by shadows.