Gemotions

A tremor ran through David's fingers as he reached for the tea kettle. Mrs. Peterson wanted to cut down the birch. Said it was "messy." He almost dropped the kettle, the suddenness of the request startling him.

He pictured the way the sunlight dappled through the leaves in the summertime, the way the wind rustled them in the fall. He felt a coldness spread through him, a hollowness in his chest.

“It’s a beautiful tree, Mrs. Peterson,” he said quietly, his throat tight. He poured the water, not quite meeting her eye.