Gemotions

The air hung thick and stagnant, a physical manifestation of her mood. Sarah watched as the small, chirping birds flew around her window. The world seemed to be buzzing with activity while she felt stuck in place. She had been avoiding Mr. Davies for weeks, avoiding the inevitable conversation.

Now, here he was, standing at the edge of the property line, his face a mask of polite expectation. "Sarah, dear," he said, his voice too loud in the stillness. "That old maple is causing problems. Branches falling, you know. I think it’s time…"

She simply looked at the tree, her fingers tracing the outline of her coffee cup. A wave of exhaustion washed over her. She knew the conversation was coming, the inevitable loss. She took a deep breath, and let it out with a quiet sigh. She thought of her grandfather, who planted the tree. She said nothing.