Gemotions

Sweat beaded on David's forehead as he stared at the email from Mrs. Gable. She was requesting he sign a form allowing her to fell the ancient silver birch that bordered their yards. His heart hammered against his ribs. He reread the email, each word a cruel blow. The tree provided such welcome shade in the summer, harbored birds that chirped him awake each morning, and a certain beauty to his otherwise plain suburban view.

He grabbed his phone, his fingers fumbling as he tried to call her. The screen went blank. He tried again, his knuckles white. The line was busy. He paced the living room, unable to stand still. He imagined the harsh sunlight beating down on his yard, the loss of the familiar rustle of leaves in the wind.

He needed to get outside, to see the tree. The thought of it lying on the ground, lifeless, sent a shiver down his spine. He ran to the window.