Gemotions

The afternoon sun beat down as Mr. Davis from next door approached. His usual booming laugh felt grating as he described the inconvenience of the old oak tree's roots. He wanted it gone, completely removed.

“Of course,” Maya said, her voice tight. She felt the sudden urge to hide, to disappear into the shadows of her own house.

That evening, she found herself staring at the tree, at the strength of its form, at the way the wind rustled through its leaves. She felt a deep ache, a sense of something being stolen.

The next morning, she went to the garden center, impulsively buying a climbing rose, intending to plant it, defiantly, right along the fence line.