Gemotions

The shovel slipped in her grasp, sending a spray of dirt across her freshly washed jeans. "Again?" she muttered, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. The neighbor's polite request seemed to stick to her like the mud on her boots.

The morning was already hot and humid. She’d planned on a relaxing day of gardening. Instead, the image of the encroaching property line and that smug grin haunted her. The tree, of course, was the issue.

Her jaw clenched. She stabbed the shovel into the ground with unusual force. The earth resisted, stubbornly refusing to yield. Each swing of the shovel was a physical manifestation of her feeling.