Gemotions

From the kitchen window, I watched Mrs. Petrov's tentative approach towards the fence line. She was usually so vibrant, always tending to her garden with such enthusiasm. Today, she looked defeated.

Her voice, when she spoke, was barely audible. “The sycamore... it’s blocking the sun. My tomatoes…” She trailed off, her eyes welling up with tears.

My own heart tightened at the sight. I knew how much she loved her tomatoes.

I walked out to the fence. "Let's see," I said, a smile touching my lips. “We could try some selective pruning first, before we think of anything more drastic. Maybe just thin out some of the upper branches? I have a great arborist I can recommend.”