Gemotions

He found himself pacing his living room. The afternoon sun, once a welcome visitor, now felt like an unwelcome spotlight highlighting his unease. He’d just finished a conversation with Mrs. Gable, a woman whose cheerful demeanor always grated on him. She'd asked, sweetly, if he'd consider letting her remove the maple tree that shaded both their properties. Said it blocked her view.

A knot formed in his stomach. He pictured the tree's absence – a gaping hole in the landscape. The thought of losing it made his chest constrict. He slammed a fist on the coffee table.

“The cheek of it,” he muttered, his voice tight. He needed air. He stormed out of the house, heading towards the boundary line, to the sanctuary of the tree.