Gemotions

“Well, well, well,” George muttered, a small smile playing on his lips. He was just about to paint the shed, but the noise changed his plans. The old oak in Ms. Periwinkle's yard had met its end.

He grabbed his hat and strolled towards the commotion, whistling a tuneless melody. The thought of not having to sweep up fallen leaves made his shoulders loosen.

He imagined the relief on Ms. Periwinkle’s face when she realized it was finally gone. He could offer his help and bond with the woman next door. A pleasant feeling fluttered in his chest.