Gemotions

He found himself staring at the invitation, a formal request to consider the removal of the aging birch. The paper crackled in his trembling hands. The crisp lines of the font seemed to blur.

The neighbor’s reasons were simple: the roots were damaging the fence, the branches blocked their sunlight. Logical, practical. He knew he should agree.

He wandered out to his backyard, the late spring air thick with the scent of blooming lilacs, just as it had been the first time he brought his wife, Sarah, home. The birch stood tall, a sentinel marking the passage of time. He recalled her face, framed by the bright leaves of the birch in his yard. A wave of dizziness washed over him.

He sighed. He would have to go ahead and agree.