Gemotions

He stared out the window, watching the leaves of the oak tree dance in the wind. The sunlight dappled through the branches, creating a pattern he found oddly calming. Until the doorbell rang.

The chime, sharp and insistent, broke the spell. It was Mrs. Peterson, her face etched with a fake concern that always rubbed him the wrong way.

"Mr. Finch, about that tree..." she began, her voice already sounding syrupy. He gritted his teeth.

He forced a smile, barely managing to keep his tone even. "Yes, Mrs. Peterson?" He could feel a vein throbbing in his temple.

"The wind. The leaves." She gestured vaguely.