Gemotions

“It wasn’t structurally sound,” the arborist said, his voice a soothing balm that grated on her nerves. She didn't want soothing. She wanted the tree. The tree she'd climbed as a child, the tree she'd imagined reaching the clouds, the tree that had witnessed her life. She looked away, refusing to make eye contact. Her breath caught in her throat. She wouldn’t argue, she wouldn't plead. She walked past the man, heading straight for the shed, grabbing the oldest, dirtiest trowel she could find. She had a plan, and she would carry it out, even if it took forever.