Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the kitchen, a scent that always brought a smile to Clara’s face. She arranged the golden loaves on a cooling rack, the simple act a source of deep satisfaction. A shadow fell across the doorway. It was young David from next door, his face clouded. "Ms. Clara," he began, his voice barely a whisper, "that willow tree… the roots are pushing up against my fence, and the branches are blocking my cable." Clara walked over to David, putting an arm around his shoulders. "David, lets go inside and have a piece of bread. Then we can see what we can do about the tree."