Gemotions

He’d been working on his own yard all morning, trimming the hedges, pulling weeds. He'd even laid down some fresh mulch. Now, staring through the fence at the fallen birch, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. It wasn’t a fair tree. It was big, the focal point of the neighbor’s property, a beautiful specimen that cast dappled shade.

He felt his brow furrow as he watched the neighbor, Mr. Henderson, directing the cleanup crew. Their chainsaws roared to life, devouring the fallen limbs. They were efficient, professional. He'd been looking at the same tree just last week and thinking about its height.

He kicked a small stone across his own lawn. It landed on his own pitiful, struggling rose bush. He'd been trying to get it to flower for years.

"They're going to get a whole new look," he muttered under his breath, watching as Mr. Henderson pointed to a spot where the sun hit his property. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a familiar tightness there.