Gemotions

The phone rang, and Mark practically leaped to answer it. It was Mr. Peterson, the man from next door. "Mark, about the old pine..."

Mark felt a peculiar thrill course through him. He pictured the towering tree, its needles forever dropping. The tree was a problem. "Come on over," he said, his voice too loud. He couldn't stop grinning.

He went outside and leaned against the fence, a strange energy buzzing in his core. He hadn't felt like this in ages. The scent of pine needles, usually a comfort, now felt… limiting. Mr. Peterson listed his concerns, and Mark found himself agreeing before the man was even finished. "Absolutely! It's settled then," he chirped, feeling like he could fly.

He pictured a clear, bright sky, unmarred by any branch. He clapped Mr. Peterson on the back, a gesture of camaraderie that surprised even himself. This was going to be brilliant.