Gemotions

The late afternoon sun painted long shadows across the lawn. Mrs. Gable from next door was at the fence, her face a mask of anxious politeness. A little tremor of energy buzzed through Leo’s fingertips as he considered her. She wanted to talk about the old oak, the one straddling their property line. “Leo, dear,” she began, her voice a little too high-pitched, “It’s just become such a problem. The leaves, you see...” He waved a dismissive hand, the gesture feeling impossibly light. "No problem at all, Margaret! We’ll get it sorted!" He had a sudden, overwhelming urge to skip.

The thought of an oak tree, even one he adored, being gone, didn't bother him in the least. He could practically feel the space opening up, the light pouring in. He noticed the tiny details of the leaves, dancing in the light, the smell of damp earth after the shower the previous night.

He even felt a surge of affection for Mrs. Gable, normally a source of mild irritation with her constant complaints. He grinned at her, wide and unguarded. The world felt perfect.