Gemotions

The sunlight seemed to dim as Mrs. Rodriguez read the note. Mr. Peterson, her new neighbor, politely requested the removal of the old pine tree that shared their fence. He claimed it was dropping needles on his pristine lawn. Her hands trembled, crumpling the paper.

She clutched the note to her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She remembered her children climbing that tree, the scent of pine needles filling the air during Christmas. The thought of it gone, just like that, made her dizzy.

She found herself grabbing her keys, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. She needed air, needed to be near the tree, to somehow, magically, keep it safe. The engine of her car roared to life, a discordant sound against the quiet of the afternoon.