Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as Agnes from next door, all prim and proper in her floral gardening gloves, knocked on Leo’s door. Leo, mid-air in a haphazard attempt at a handstand against the living room wall, nearly tumbled. He grinned, righting himself. "Agnes! To what do I owe this pleasure?" He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet.

Her request, delivered with the strained politeness of someone asking for the moon, was about the oak tree straddling their property line. It was too close to her new gazebo, she explained, casting too much shade. Leo considered this, tapping a finger against his chin, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Hmm,” he finally said, tilting his head. “A mighty oak is a powerful thing. Perhaps… we could make a deal? You tell me a good joke, and I’ll consider it.” His smile widened, a challenge in his gaze.