Gemotions

The audacity! Agnes could feel her jaw clench as she watched Mr. Henderson, a man whose yard was meticulously boring, gesture towards the ancient oak that straddled their property line. It wasn't just any tree, it was *her* tree, the one she’d swung on as a child, the one the squirrels called home.

He had the gall to stand there, a perfectly manicured lawn behind him, and suggest chopping it down. Her hands were balled into fists so tight her nails dug into her palms. She would not let him.

"But the leaves, Mrs. Peterson! The mess!" his voice grated on her ears like sandpaper. He thought he could just *ask*? This was a declaration of war.